


darkness falling leaves nowhere to go

by Randomosities



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Ambrolleigns - Freeform, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bad Dirty Talk, Breathplay, Canon-Typical Ableism, Canon-Typical Violence, Come Sharing, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Double Penetration, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers to Enemies, Enemies to Lovers, Exhibitionism, Facials, Hair-pulling Kink, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Kayfabe Compliant, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Praise Kink, Rimming, Romance, Rough Foreplay, Submission, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, ambreigns - Freeform, ambrollins - Freeform, bad domming, collaring, lots of self-loathing, mentions of crossdressing kink, rolleigns - Freeform, roman leave the bad dye job alone, sad puppy dean, sad puppy seth, slight bloodplay, very slight painplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-05-17 15:13:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 62
Words: 109,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5875729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randomosities/pseuds/Randomosities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean Ambrose moved to Orlando from Cincinnati, he thought he was leaving it all behind. He was more than ready to free himself from the pain, drugs, and debauchery of his past life, and he was sure moving hundreds of miles from the source would give him a fresh start.</p><p>But new events and people only bring the past back to haunt him, and once more he's ensnared in a web of heartache and depravity.</p><p>He doesn't think he'll make it out alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Bear with me, I don't know if I really know what I'm doing.  
> Cross-posted to FanFiction.net.
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters are fictitious and no events depicted reflect the personal lives of anyone in the story.

Dean Ambrose is twenty-five years old when he meets Seth Rollins.

It’s the middle of June, and Dean’s just moved to Orlando as part of his contract with WWE’s developmental territory, Florida Championship Wrestling.

It’s agonizingly hot and muggy, the kind of heat that makes his shirt cling to his chest with sweat whenever he does no more than stand outside for more than thirty seconds.

He figures he’ll have to get used to it if he wants a shot at the big leagues.

He won’t make his official debut for another couple of weeks, but until then, he’s been instructed to hang around the facility, “get to know everyone.”

So he does. He creeps around in the audience during matches, sizes up the competition, so to speak. He makes sure he’s well aware of who has what championship – he knows he wants to make an impact, give everyone something to talk about, and he’s decided the best way to do that would be to challenge someone for their championship on his debut.

It’s in typical Ambrose fashion that he meets Seth Rollins by crashing into him. He’s walking backward down a backstage hallway, yelling at someone further down the hall as he does, and turns the corner without looking back, only to run into something that’s definitely not the wall.

Nope, it’s Seth Rollins.

Dean’s knocked him on his ass, and Seth looks particularly perturbed. “Watch where you’re going,” he snaps, and there’s a bit of an actual edge to it.

Dean likes that he can bother someone he doesn’t even really know.

“Sorry, _princess_ ,” he mocks. He watches as Seth climbs to his feet, eyeing him suspiciously all the while. “Didn’t know the dust was gonna ruin your panties.” He grins as Seth scowls.

“Who the hell are you, anyway?” Seth asks, and Dean couldn’t be happier. If there’s one thing he likes to do, it’s to get under people’s skin. He can tell from the tone of Seth’s voice that he’s definitely gotten under his skin.

“Dean Ambrose,” he responds. “And who the hell are _you_?” he asks, imitating Seth’s irritated tone, only deepening his scowl.

It seems as though Seth manages to keep his anger in check, as his tone now is more cocky and confident than irritated, if anything. “Seth Rollins.”

“Seth, huh? Yeah, I’ve heard of ya,” Dean says, his grin from earlier reappearing. There’s no warmth in it, just pure mockery. He wants to dig deep under the guy’s skin, see if he can break that cocky façade. It would take time, but he knows he can do it. “Aren’t you the one with that little gold medal, the, um—“

“The FCW 15 Championship,” Seth interrupts, reciting the title by rote. Apparently, Dean’s not the first to forget the name of the championship.

“Yeah, that’s the one. How come they don’t give ya a real belt? Is it their way of saying you’re not a real champ? ‘Cause I dunno about you, but that thing looks real easy to take.”

Seth’s eyes narrow; he recognizes the statement as the challenge that it is. “Are you saying you’re gonna try to take it from me?”

Dean laughs humorlessly, shaking his head. “Oh, Sethie, Sethie, Sethie,” he says. “I wouldn’t even need to try. It’d be just like taking candy from a baby, right? Distract the baby… and he won’t even know his candy’s gone.”

Seth frowns, folding his arms across his chest. “I’ve had the FCW 15 Championship for over 150 days, and no idiot from any fuck-knows-where promotion is gonna be able to just come in and take it.”

“Is that so?” Dean asks, bouncing up and down a little. It seems to antagonize Seth further, which delights him. “’Cause I’m sure as hell willing to put that to the test, princess.”

When Dean makes his official debut a few weeks later, he challenges Seth for the championship.

* * *

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to have his championship match immediately, but that’s okay with him. He spends the next few weeks trying to get further under Seth Rollins’s skin, calling him out repeatedly, mocking him with all the false lascivious pet names he knows.

Dean delights in interrupting Seth in any way possible, and so he takes the bait in early August to go further with his interruptions. Previously, when Seth was doing a promo, he would just stand off to the side and mock him, gesturing and mouthing things at him, trying his best to irritate him so that look would be captured for all to see. For some reason, the cameras never bothered to face Dean himself, as if they didn’t want to reveal the source of Seth’s displeasure. But on this particular day, he’s been invited to come in front of the cameras to antagonize Seth mid-promo. How could he say no to such an invitation?

Dean stands off to the side for a while, just listening to, and watching, the promo. Seth is wearing a St. Louis Cardinals cap and a faded band shirt, of which the band is one Dean’s never heard of.  The clothes somehow make him look tinier than he is, Dean thinks. Even though Seth’s six feet tall, he barely tops 200 pounds, making him scrawny and thin in Dean’s opinion.

Briley Pierce is asking Seth for his response to Dean’s continuous verbal attacks, and Dean fights a grin at how Seth’s lips curl in disgust at the mere mention of his name. Seth starts going on about defending the championship and how he’s “destined for greatness” when Dean approaches, leaving no more than a foot of space between himself and Seth. He can hear the audience chanting “Ambrose,” but he pays no attention to them, instead focusing all his attention on Seth, who has trailed off and turned to look at him.

Seth just stares at him, his jaw clenched. Dean raises his eyebrows, silently challenging him to say something, do something. But he doesn’t, so Dean just purses his lips in a sort of smirk and backs off, watching Seth all the while. Seth continues to stare at him, his lips pressed together in a thin line, before he slowly turns his attention back to Briley.

Briley looks confused, and Seth looks back at Dean briefly before looking away and shaking his head, communicating a message that’s clear to Dean: _You’ll never have this championship._

A week later, Dean gets to have his championship match.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s only after he gets backstage that he realizes that calling Seth a puppy might not have been the best insult.

Dean’s excited.

It’s probably more than a little ridiculous—the championship is merely a _medal_ , for Christ’s sake, and Dean knows he could kick Seth’s ass seven ways to Sunday easily, but he’s excited for the match.

He’s full of energy as he waits backstage just behind the curtain, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet as he listens to the terms of the match being declared. It’s a 15 minute Iron Man match—easy, he thinks. He could probably have Seth pinned twice in the first ten minutes.

He’s announced first, and he busts through the curtain just as the words are barely out of the announcer’s mouth. He proceeds to get so close to the camera trained on the entranceway that his face nearly butts up against it. He grins at it, bouncing up and down again, his energy still abundant. He makes his way over to the ring, walking up the steps and ducking under the top rope to get in. He paces in the ring, finally turning around and sticking his tongue out at the camera facing the ring with another grin, mouthing “ _Right now_ ” as he points at the ring. He continues to pace, waiting impatiently for Seth to be announced so he can get his ass in the ring and Dean can do what he does best.

Dean stares at Seth when he finally comes out. He’s wearing yet another band shirt (Dean suspects ‘ _emo kid obsessed with pop punk’_ is his gimmick), his hair down and loose, brushing the top of his back. Seth walks around the ring, pointing at him, and Dean’s eyes don’t leave him for a second.

Seth pulls the medal out from seemingly nowhere and locks eyes with Dean as he puts it on. Dean wonders if there’s anything _not_ cocky about him, because even the way he puts the medal on around his neck is confident and assured. Apparently he still thinks Dean doesn’t have a chance of beating him.

Dean looks forward to challenging that idea.

He rolls his eyes as he watches Seth hop up on the middle turnbuckle, showing off. So fucking cocky, he thinks. He’d love to slap the confidence right out of him.

He’s relieved when Seth hops off the turnbuckle and finally literally gets his ass in the ring. Dean storms over in front of him as he takes off the medal, already shouting at him.

“That’s my championship,” he says, stabbing his own chest with a finger, a smirk on his face. “My championship.”

Seth ignores him, pulling his shirt over his head and looking out towards the audience instead of bothering to acknowledge him.

Dean continues to shout at him anyway, and Seth finally looks at him, his jaw clenched. They’re both vaguely aware of the referee putting a hand on each of their chests, trying to separate them, since the match hasn’t even started yet. But Dean’s more concerned about bothering Seth, and Seth’s more concerned about not letting Dean’s annoyances get to him.

The bell finally rings, signaling the start of the match, but Dean isn’t up and on him just yet. No, he wants to get into Seth’s head. So he walks a slow circle around Seth, watching him as Seth takes a few confused steps toward him. Dean steps closer, getting right up in Seth’s personal space.

“You think you’re better than me?” Dean asks, eyes narrowed. Seth looks him up and down, nods.

“Of course I do,” he says.

“That’s where you’re wrong. See, _I’m_ better than _you_ , and I’m gonna fuckin’ prove it,” Dean declares, backing off, his stance becoming more predatorial. Seth opens his arms in a _try me_ gesture, and that’s when the match really starts, when they finally clash.

It’s intense, even though they haven’t even hit each other yet. Their arms are locked, and Dean uses his momentum to back Seth into a corner. There’s some kind of weird electric feeling between them, although Dean wonders if it’s just in his head, if he’s the only one who can feel it. It makes him feel more limber, a little lightheaded, but in the best way.

He releases his hold on Seth when he feels the referee try to separate them, backing away. He continues to mock Seth, mouthing “ _C’mon, come get me_ ,” then dancing just out of Seth’s reach whenever he tries to grab him. Seth gets frustrated, tries to put him in a headlock, but it’s not tight enough and Dean easily extricates himself from Seth’s grasp.

They go back and forth for a little while, each trying to put the other in a headlock, Seth showing off with a couple of fancy rolls to get out of Dean’s grasp. He finally manages to grab Dean again, grasps his arm and flings him down onto the canvas. Dean tries to gain the upper hand, but Seth is better than he expected, and eventually, Dean just gets fed up.

Seth tries to pin him twice, but Dean kicks out at one each time, and when Dean gets up after the second attempt, he slaps Seth right across the face. He relishes in the slight sting of his hand after the fact, the way Seth’s cheeks redden just a bit, and the way Seth is taking deep breaths, anger clear in his eyes.

Dean fucking loves to piss off Seth Rollins.

A few seconds pass. Dean snaps “C’mon, princess, come get me,” and then Seth slaps him right back, just as hard as he gave. It stings, sure, but Dean barely feels it.

He retaliates by kicking Seth in the stomach and punching him in the face. He backs Seth into the corner again, hitting him with a couple chops. He goes for another chop, but Seth ducks, and the momentum of his attempted chop drives him into the corner. Seth goes for an elbow to his head, but Dean ducks, grasping his head with both hands and turning his back to Seth. Seth instead decides on a hard slap to the middle of his back, and Dean acts as if it hurts more than it does.

Dean goes for his finisher, _Midnight Special_ , and the impact is enough to send Seth sprawled out in a heap in the middle of the ring. He goes for a pin, but Seth kicks out. It aggravates him; he should’ve had him pinned at least once already. Seth Rollins isn’t shit, he thinks. It should be easy as hell to beat him.

But Dean’s not going to let Seth know that he’s actually not a half-bad wrestler. And he’s certainly not going to let Seth know that it’s getting to him.  

Dean puts Seth in a tight headlock, starts trying to wear him down. It seems like it’s working, because even though Seth manages to escape, when Dean goes for another pin it takes longer for him to kick out.

Dean loses the upper hand from there, Seth turning the situation on its head and starting to wear him down. He’s got tunnel vision, and his head is pounding, but he can’t let Seth win. He can’t. So when Seth goes for a pin, Dean kicks out, causing Seth to yell out in frustration.

Seth hits him with a Curb Stomp and tries to pin him again, and this time Dean struggles, barely getting his left shoulder up off the ground just a second before what would have been the end of the three-count. Seth is astonished, understandably.

His frustration obviously growing, he knocks Dean out of the ring with a hard clothesline over the top rope, and then knocks him flat on his ass with a somersault splash. They both lay sprawled out on their backs on the mats outside the ring, trying to catch their breaths, trying to figure out what to do next to win the match.

They manage to get back to their feet, and Seth shoves Dean back into the ring. They go back and forth for a little longer, and Seth’s sure he’ll win, so he goes for _Avada Kedavra,_ only for Dean to gain the upper hand again and faceplant him into the mat. Dean knows this is it, he just _knows_ this is his chance, so he pins Seth, only for Seth to somehow kick out.

Dean is seething, his own frustration obvious. He should have at least one over Seth by now, he thinks. But he’s exhausted, his lungs burning, and so his movements are slow, sluggish. It’s like his body isn’t quite connecting with his mind, despite the fact that he still feels the intense electricity that he felt earlier. This time, it just feels like the electricity is running straight into a wall, doing nothing but distracting him, drowning out any coherent thought.

He lays flat on his back on the canvas, dimly aware of Seth climbing up onto one of the top turnbuckles. He manages to climb to his feet before Seth can jump off, and knocks Seth off his feet, swinging wildly at his head. He climbs up onto the middle rope, facing Seth, whose head is hanging low, body folded so his back is exposed to Dean.

Dean just stares for a while at the tanned flesh, more defined than he previously thought. His only coherent thought is that he wants to touch Seth’s back, wants to feel the smooth skin under his fingertips. So he does.

He rakes his fingernails down Seth’s back, clawing at him like he would if they were in bed together. He revels in the angry red lines that form underneath his hands, marring the flesh. This seems to wake Seth up, and Seth raises himself, starts slapping at Dean until Dean is stuck in the same position that Seth had been.

Then Seth returns the favor, clawing at Dean’s back with the same intensity and force Dean had used on him. It stings like hell, and Dean is sure Seth’s clawing at him hard enough to draw blood in spots, but it’s weirdly not a bad sort of pain. He’s concerned about his own reaction, that electricity firing up again, attempting to cloud his judgment.

Seth hops off the turnbuckle, leaving Dean sitting atop it, his back to the ring post. He comes at Dean with a running enzuigiri, nearly knocking Dean off the turnbuckle. Dean’s head is swimming, his tunnel vision threatening to expand further inward. The only coherent thought he’s having is _don’t let him win, don’t let him win_. Even as Seth comes back to the turnbuckle and flings Dean down onto the canvas with a hurricanrana, Dean manages to pin Seth, coming very close to a full three-count. But Seth kicks out and pins Dean, though Dean kicks out and squirms away, much to Seth’s frustration.

There are apparently less than two minutes left, and Dean has gone into autopilot. He’s trading weary blows with Seth, both of them exhausted, both wanting to win. They end up clashing in a hard double clothesline, Dean managing to barely stumble to his feet just as it is announced that there is only one minute left. Once he gets to his feet, he falls on his ass again, his frustration mounting. He tries to crawl over to Seth, to stand, to do both. He pounds his fist against the canvas angrily, wondering how the hell the match had gotten so difficult. He knew he was better than Seth, so why the hell hadn’t he pinned him yet?

There are only twenty seconds left when Dean climbs to his feet a second time, and exhaustion turns into desperation, he and Seth trading blows once again in hopes of knocking the other down and creating the opportunity for a pin. The blows continue, and Dean dimly hears the sound of the bell being rung to end the match, but he refuses to stop attacking Seth. He’s forced to stop when the referee shoves him away, and all he feels is anger.

He can’t believe he didn’t win the championship.

It’s _his_ , not Seth’s.

As he listens to the match being declared a draw, he snatches the medal from the referee before the referee can give it back to Seth. Seth demands the referee make Dean give it back, but his grip only tightens around it.

“You’re not shit, Seth!” Dean yells. “You want this back?” he asks, dangling the medal in Seth’s face, just out of his reach, taunting him. “You’re gonna have to chase after it like the fuckin’ puppy you are,” he says, launching the medal in the direction of the commentators, much to Seth’s disbelief.

He ducks under the middle rope and jumps off the apron, heading backstage without even so much as a glance in Seth’s direction. He can hear Seth yelling after him, but he doesn’t bother to pay attention or acknowledge it.

It’s only after he gets backstage that he realizes that calling Seth a puppy might not have been the best insult.

He doesn’t even know if it _was_ an insult.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Defeat looks real nice on Seth Rollins, he thinks. He could get used to seeing it.

A week after the decidedly unfulfilling match, Dean is asked to cut a promo talking about it. He agrees to it, seeing it as another opportunity to get under Seth Rollins’s skin.

Because he’s not blind; since the day of the match, he’s seen the way Seth’s been looking at him. That disgust is still there, that curl of his lips whenever Dean’s name is mentioned in a sentence… but there’s something else, too. Something that looks a lot like intrigue. Like Seth Rollins wants to pick Dean Ambrose apart, figure him out. But Dean’s determined to pick Seth apart first.

He wonders if Seth felt the electricity, and if it bothered him as much as it did Dean.

During the promo, Dean feels restless, like there’s a buzzing energy filling his body, threatening to seep from his pores. He scratches his head, bounces on his toes, looks from left to right as if he’s searching for someone, sways, tosses his arms around, before he finally settles and makes eye contact with Briley Pierce, who’s making a half-hearted attempt to talk to him.

Dean’s only half-listening, but he catches something along the lines of “people are mad.” He immediately responds, acting as if he was actually paying attention, as if he was angered by the reaction.

“Why am _I_ the bad guy? Why am I always the bad guy in all this? Seth Rollins is gonna put that medal around his neck, when he didn’t even beat me! He didn’t beat anybody, check the scoreboard.” He pauses, silently addressing the next part of his little tirade to Seth himself. “You say that FCW 15 medal means something to you? You think it means something to you? You’re the representative of all the Florida heritage in the Florida territory? You know, Jack Brisco and Eddie Graham would be rolling over in their graves if they knew _you_ were the FCW 15 Champion. I threw that medal like garbage, cause it’s never been around my neck, and it is garbage—“

He’s interrupted by a hard slap to his face, knocking him backwards into the barricade behind him. He clings to it briefly before he’s shoved over it, landing ungracefully in a heap on the mats by the ring. He jumps to his feet, only to be attacked by what he quickly recognizes as Seth Rollins. He swings blindly, his vision impacted by Seth’s mop of hair coming loose from its ponytail. He feels security attempting to separate them, and he rips off his jacket and lunges at Seth.

Security is trying desperately to hold him back, because all Dean wants to do is get in the ring and punch that cocky smirk right off Seth’s pretty face. Seth’s in the ring, goading him, and then he’s up on the top turnbuckle and jumping off in hopes of crashing into Dean. But Dean moves out of the way just in time, and Seth instead takes out the security that had been trying to hold Dean back previously.

It gives him the opportunity to finally lunge for Seth, and he grabs him and starts swinging. He lands a few punches and then grabs Seth by the back of the neck and throws him into the lighting rig by the entryway. Seth collapses flat on his back, and Dean stands over him, studying him.

He’s wearing that stupid fucking medal, and Dean bends over, clutches it between two fingers and turns it over and over, inspecting it. He shakes it, forcing Seth to look at it, holding it in Seth’s line of vision.

“You’re a real gem,” he says finally, his voice raspy, his anger mostly dissipated at the sight of Seth sprawled out on the floor, weary and defeated. Defeat looks real nice on Seth Rollins, he thinks. He could get used to seeing it. “You’re a real gem, princess.”

He straightens himself and ignores the referees that are approaching, shoving one out of the way when they try to stop him from going anywhere, and heads backstage.  

He wonders when the fuck he started thinking of Seth’s face as pretty.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seth takes advantage of the looseness of the hold to crawl over to the ropes and cling for dear life, as if the ropes will protect him from Dean.  
> Nothing could possibly protect him from Dean.

Two weeks after Dean and Seth’s first match, they have a rematch for the championship. It’s the same rules as the first, just a bit longer – 20 minutes, instead of 15.

Dean had been the one to demand the rematch, though it had been given to him without much fuss. Fans are just _eating up the feud_ , as he had been told. They can’t get enough of it. He won’t ever admit he can’t get enough of it either.

This match is redemption, he thinks as he storms out from backstage before he’s even announced, heading into the ring briskly, without putting on a show for the camera like he did last time.

Redemption for making a fool of himself in that last match, being unable to pin Seth at least once.

But mostly, redemption for his plan horribly backfiring and ending up with Seth under his skin rather than the other way around, with him under Seth’s skin, like it should be.

He doesn’t really give a fuck about Seth. Seth is just some kid who thinks he’s good enough to make it big. Like he really thinks his stupid band shirts and baseball caps are gonna get him somewhere. Kid’s got an ego the size of a watermelon just because he has some shiny medal around his neck.

Dean is determined to right the wrongs he created, determined to take that championship, determined to bury himself under Seth’s skin, be that pain in Seth’s side he feels whenever he moves the wrong way.

He won’t let Seth win.

Once in the ring, he walks in a circle, bounces up and down, whatever he can do to quiet the buzzing in his mind, at least temporarily. He doesn’t know if it’s just the anticipation of finally kicking Seth’s ass to the curb once and for all, or if it’s something else, something he doesn’t quite want to attempt to identify, but he feels like a balloon overfilled with air, ready to burst at any second. He feels like the energy inside him is going to burn him from the inside out if he doesn’t try to control it or let it out.

He pauses in his pacing when he hears Seth’s entrance music hit, waiting impatiently for Seth to come out. When Seth does, it’s before he’s even technically announced – he’s apparently just as determined as Dean is. Dean notes that he’s wearing another one of those dumb band shirts, finds himself wondering how many band shirts he owns, or if they’re just his entire wardrobe.

He doesn’t have much time to wonder, as he realizes Seth’s heading straight for him, dropping showing off in favor of getting the upper hand over Dean. But Dean’s quicker than he is, and he grasps Seth and flings him into the ring immediately, distantly hearing the bell ringing to start the match officially.

Seth hauls himself to his feet almost instantly, throws Dean down and starts throwing punches anywhere he can reach. Dean manages to roll out of the ring, trying to conserve his energy, but Seth’s hot on his heels, stalking him as he walks around the ring. Seth grabs him by the hair, slams his face down on the apron a few times, before dragging him over to the steel steps that lead up to the ring and slamming his face down on their surface too.

He then shoves him back into the ring, and Dean manages to stand, running at Seth in hopes of hitting him with a good clothesline, but Seth stops him with a chop that drops him to his knees. As he stands, he focuses on Seth, who’s yelling something at him.

Oh. Dean now realizes Seth had still been wearing the medal, and is now dangling it from his fingers, taunting him with it.

“You want this, huh? You don’t deserve it!” Seth shouts, proceeding to deliver a series of hard kicks to Dean’s midsection, driving him back down onto the canvas.

As he sits for a moment, trying to catch his breath, he finds that Seth is moving away from him and onto the apron opposite from him. He takes advantage of the opportunity and gets to his feet, running directly at Seth, using his full weight and the momentum he had created to knock Seth off the apron and into the steel barricade just in front of the crowd. He delights in seeing how stunned Seth is, in a heap on the mats outside the ring, trying to recover.

When Seth recovers and makes his way back into the ring, Dean is on him at once, shoving him down onto the canvas and putting him in a tight headlock. “Tap out, princess,” he hisses, and Seth says something that sounds vaguely like no.

Dean eventually makes the mistake of loosening his grip just a little to try to pull Seth’s hair with one hand, only for Seth to sink his teeth into the meat of Dean’s other hand. Dean yelps and lets go, shaking his hand.

Seth is crawling over to the ropes, trying to use them to stand up, and he’s got both hands on the bottom rope, but Dean puts a foot on his back to stop him. He reaches down, grabs a fistful of Seth’s hair and pulls as hard as he can, and he relishes in the scream of pain Seth makes. He lets go and slams Seth’s face into the turnbuckle with the foot that had been on Seth’s back. Seth just lays there, like he’s stunned again.

“C’mon, get up,” Dean says, suddenly irritated by Seth’s apparent sluggishness. When Seth doesn’t bother to move any faster, Dean does it for him, hauling him over to the center of the ring and placing him in a rear chinlock. He pulls as hard as he can, thoroughly enjoying the noises of pain that fall from Seth’s lips.

He lets go after a minute or two, trying to figure out what to do next, what part of Seth he should target. Seth lays sprawled out on his back on the mat, chest rising and falling rapidly.

He decides to target Seth’s left leg, grabbing Seth’s foot to lift his leg and driving his own foot firmly into the back of Seth’s thigh a few times. He lets go of his foot and chooses to drive his elbow into Seth’s thigh after his leg falls back onto the mat.

He then forces Seth to stand up, pulling him up by his hair. He props him up against the ropes, hooking his left leg over the middle rope, and kicks viciously at his leg, trying his best to damage it. Seth attempts to hit Dean with a couple of chops, but they’re weak, desperate, and Dean hardly feels them. He backs off despite that, watching as Seth struggles to his feet and limps to the middle of the ring, where Dean proceeds to shove him back down and put him in a figure-four leglock.

He grins at Seth, who is thrashing, shaking his head, desperately trying to get himself out of the position he’s stuck in. “That hurt, princess? Huh? That hurt?” he asks, and reaches over and slaps Seth across the face. Seth recoils, reaching for the ropes, but Dean’s not going to let him get that far.

It’s just after he decides that that somehow, Seth manages to turn himself over, placing the pressure of the hold on Dean, making him grit his teeth and clench his hands. He forces himself to ignore the pressure, and slowly manages to get Seth back in the position he had been, but it’s a looser hold. Seth takes advantage of the looseness of the hold to crawl over to the ropes and cling for dear life, as if the ropes will protect him from Dean.

Nothing could possibly protect him from Dean.

Seth manages to get into the corner and uses the ropes to stand, but Dean’s all over him again, hopping up on the middle rope and pulling Seth’s hair as he swings at him.

It’s just pure coincidence that when Dean feels a sudden wave of dizziness and starts to fall off the second rope, he pulls himself back up, causing his crotch to bump into Seth’s face.

He pretends that didn’t happen.

Seth apparently notices, and retaliates by grabbing him and launching him into a powerbomb off the opposite turnbuckle. The impact sends Dean onto his knees on the canvas, pain tingling up and down his spine, along with something else that feels like that electricity he felt last time, mingling almost pleasantly with the pain.

He chooses not to think about what that could mean, instead getting to his feet and running at Seth, hitting him with another clothesline. Dean goes for _Midnight Special_ , sure that this is it, and pins Seth, but Seth manages to kick out just before the referee counts to three. His resilience astonishes Dean.

Dean feels that anger returning, that feeling he can only describe as ‘how the hell haven’t I gotten a pin yet’ resurfacing. He gets back to his feet and rushes at Seth with another clothesline, but Seth ducks and hits him with _Avada Kedavra_ , sending him rolling under the bottom rope and onto the mats on the floor outside the ring.

Seth follows him, staggering on his feet outside the ring, and shoves Dean back into the ring. He follows again, and goes for a pin, but Dean makes a point to irritate him by placing his foot over the bottom rope, and then when Seth tries to pin him again, shifting his pin so that Dean’s feet can’t be put over the ropes, he grabs the bottom rope with his hand. Seth groans in frustration and drags him to the middle of the ring, pinning him a third time, but Dean kicks out just in time.

Seth gets off of him and goes over to the corner, climbing up onto the top turnbuckle, with his back facing Dean. Before he can do anything, though, Dean manages to rush over and shoves Seth off the turnbuckle, causing him to crash face-first into the metal crowd barricade outside the ring.

Dean goes after him, rolling out of the ring and heading over to him, hopping over the crowd barricade and pulling him into the crowd just as the one-minute warning is announced. Dean pulls him over to the announcer’s table, lifting him onto his shoulders and dumping him unceremoniously on the table.

“Get out of the way!” Dean snaps at the announcers, his irritation with Seth being the only thing fueling his actions at the moment; right now, he couldn’t care less about the championship, or the time limit on the match.

He just wanted to make sure Seth Rollins knew who the better one of the two was. He wanted to make sure Seth Rollins knew he could never beat Dean, because even though Seth still had his championship, he had never really beaten him, and Dean wouldn’t let him beat him even if he died trying.

“You still think you’re better than me?” he shouts at Seth, who doesn’t seem to hear him. “You’re never gonna be better than me. You fuckin’ _wish_ you were better than me. Hell, you fuckin’ wish you _were_ me!”

Seth punches him in the face, and they start trading blows like they had at the beginning of the match, but they’re both worn down and weary, and their punches are slow, almost rhythmic. But their weariness causes them to lose balance, and they fall, Seth first and then Dean, right off the announcer’s table and onto the floor.

It’s there, sprawled out on the floor just a few feet from the announcer’s table, that Dean hears the bell ring to end the match. He also hears the match being declared a draw, but this time, he barely cares.

He’s oddly satisfied; Seth didn’t technically win, because he never pinned Dean, never made him submit, never let him stay out of the ring for a ten count.

They’ll probably have another rematch, and Dean knows he’ll win that time around, but at least Seth still can’t honestly say he beat him.

He finds himself grinning, even as he lies on the floor with his eyes closed, barely able to move, pain and that weird electricity radiating out from every part of him.

He’s already looking forward to the second rematch.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ya hear that, Sethie? Thirty minutes. Gives me a chance to find even more ways to kick your ass."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone for reading and/or leaving kudos and/or commenting. I'm really glad someone other than me likes this story :P

The second rematch doesn’t come as soon as Dean would have liked.

Instead of having another match a week or two later, Dean’s roped into doing a contract signing two weeks after the first rematch.

He doesn’t really get why they insist on a contract signing; they never bothered with one the first two times around, so why now?

He’d even asked, and they’d said something along the lines of ‘ _you and Seth have great ring chemistr_ y.’

Ring chemistry.

He figures that probably translates into ‘ _attack Seth over the table at the contract signing, it’ll get more viewers_.’ Or at least, that’s what it translates into in Dean’s head. Either way, he’d be happy to.

On the day of the contract signing, they have him come out first, as usual. There’s a table set up in the ring, with a chair on either side of it, and a piece of paper on the table. The general manager is standing by the table, but Dean pays her no mind, brushing past her after he gets into the ring and flopping down heavily in the chair that’s facing the entryway. He does his best to be annoying; leans back in his chair, puts his feet up on the table, chews on the pen that’s offered to him. He drums his fingers on the table while the general manager speaks, paying absolutely no attention to her, all his attention focused on the entryway.

As Seth’s entrance music hits, Dean decides to take his feet off the table, sitting up. “Took ya long enough!” he shouts at Seth as he enters from backstage. Dean twirls the pen between his fingers as he watches Seth, who only grants him a brief glance. He watches as Seth slowly gets into the ring, finally focusing his attention on him. Even as he comes around to the table, it takes him a while to sit down, as if he’s distrustful of Dean, as if Dean’s rigged the chair or something.

Kinda smart, actually. But Dean’s never gonna tell him that.

Seth stares at him, and Dean grins shamelessly. “Have a seat, princess,” he says. Seth rolls his eyes, but sits anyway, pulling his chair closer to the table. Dean mimics him, managing to pull his chair so close that his knees bump up against Seth’s under the table. He kicks Seth in the shin, just to spite him.

Seth hisses in pain and glares at Dean, who only grins wider. “What? I didn’t do anythin’,” he says, a blatant lie. He decides to finally listen to the general manager, who’s looking right at him as she announces that the match, scheduled for next week if they sign the contract, will be a 30 minute Iron Man match. Dean makes a face of mock surprise. “Ya hear that, Sethie? Thirty minutes. Gives me a chance to find even more ways to kick your ass.” He doesn’t bother to wait for Seth’s response, instead pretending to closely examine the contract.

He finally looks up at Seth, who nods. Dean doesn’t know if it’s an agreement to what he said or an agreement to the match, but he doesn’t really care. He makes a big show of picking up the pen again, placing his hand down on the table, before he looks back up at Seth, nods, and then signs the contract.

He makes a point to circle the spot where Seth’s supposed to sign his name, and then makes another big show of pushing the piece of paper over to Seth. “All yours, Sethie.”

Seth doesn’t reply, instead just signing the contract, trying to make a bigger show out of it than Dean.

As if he could ever upstage Dean.

Dean smirks and shoves himself to his feet abruptly. Seth, apparently not wanting to be upstaged himself, does the same thing.

“This time next week, _that_ ,” Dean says, pointing to the medal in Seth’s hand, “is gonna be mine.”

“I’ve beat you once, I’ve beat you twice, you don’t stand a chance,” Seth snaps, entirely too confident.

Dean grins, ignoring the general manager once again, who’s telling the two to knock it off. “Yeah, keep tellin’ yourself that, princess. We could have a match for it, right here, right now, and I’d still beat ya.”

In response, Seth lunges at Dean, but Dean jumps out of Seth’s way, grinning wider. The general manager has a hand on Seth’s chest now, trying to hold him back; she's barely succeeding.

“See ya, Sethie!” Dean calls, leaving the ring unceremoniously, hopping onto the floor and walking backstage without looking back. He can feel Seth’s eyes on him, following him as he walks, but he’s not gonna give Seth the satisfaction of acknowledging him.

He just knows he can’t _wait_ for next week.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No," Dean clarifies, "you should fuck off because you're a fucking asshole and I hate you." 
> 
> "Don't worry, the feeling's mutual."

Dean’s rather calm this time around as he waits backstage.

It’s odd, and leaves a vague discomfort in the back of his mind that he pushes down in favor of focusing on the job at hand.

He’s seen Seth a couple times since the contract signing last week; sometimes, Seth would look at him and scowl; other times, Seth would just ignore him. But regardless of what Seth did, passing by him would make the buzzing in Dean’s mind settle, but it felt like his veins burned, like the sight of Seth lit him up from the inside out.

It’s really, _really_ fucking weird, he thinks.

But he had passed by Seth maybe ten minutes ago, and somehow, Seth’s presence had calmed him. Even though Seth hadn’t given him so much as a glance, he felt calmer immediately afterward.

In his mind, the fact infuriates him to no end, but his mind and his body don’t want to connect, don’t want to realize that the idea of being calmed by Seth is _wrong._ Very, very wrong.

But he knows worrying about things like that is gonna let Seth gain the upper hand, let Seth win, and he can’t let that happen.

So he’s calm. So he waits.

He’s so calm, in fact, that he actually waits to be announced before heading out from behind the curtain, and when he does head out, he walks slow, leisurely. Even as he walks up the steel steps, hooking his arm around the ring post for a moment, he’s still going slowly, like he’s meeting up with Seth for lunch or something rather than heading into a match.

He slips under the top rope to climb into the ring and walks in a slow circle around its interior, raising his arms over his head, stretching as he goes. He feels confident; he doesn’t need to worry about winning or not winning, because he knows he’ll win.

He watches idly as Seth’s entrance music hits and the guy in question storms out, looking a mixture of determined and angry. Dean lets him do his thing, watching as Seth shows off on the middle turnbuckle, holding the medal up high like it’s God’s own gift to him.

Seth probably thinks he’s a gift himself.

The thought makes Dean snicker, and Seth turns, glaring at him. He hops off the turnbuckle and heads to the center of the ring, his gaze trained on Dean. Dean meets him there, looking at Seth intently.

“Still want this?” Seth asks, gesturing to the medal, which the referee is now holding over his head, signifying that it’s a championship match.

“’Course I do. And I’m gonna get it, just you wait and see,” Dean responds, pointing at the medal, and then pointing at him. He doesn’t look convinced, but Dean couldn’t care less.

When the bell rings to start the match, Dean doesn’t do anything; he just stands there, waits for Seth to do something. But Seth doesn’t do anything either, apparently waiting for Dean to do something.

They both stand there like that for a good ten seconds, silent, waiting, before Seth snaps an impatient “Come on,” and Dean smirks and taps his ear.

“Hear that, Sethie?” he asks; it’s the distinct sound of the crowd chanting “Ambrose.” Not “Rollins,” but “Ambrose.”

 That goads Seth into lunging for him, and they end up with their arms locked, both trying to twist the other into a submission maneuver, but neither managing to really do so. Finally, they unlock themselves, and Seth goes for _Avada Kedavra,_ but Dean rolls out of the ring, wagging his finger at Seth from outside the ring.

“Not a chance, Sethie. Not a chance.”

He rolls back into the ring, and Seth is on him immediately, but Dean manages to hit him with a row of chops, knocking Seth into the corner. Dean continues this way, cornering Seth, until he makes the mistake of pausing before yet another chop, and Seth ducks under and hits _him_ with a chop. Seth gives Dean’s punishment back to him, but his chops are harder and faster. They’re enough to knock Dean off balance, and he has to hold onto the top rope tightly to avoid falling out of the ring.

Somehow, Seth gets the upper hand, and Dean ends up stuck, his feet stuck under the top rope of the ring and his torso hanging off the edge of the apron. Seth apparently decides the best way to free Dean is with a dropkick directly to his ass, knocking him off the ropes and onto the mats outside the ring.

And now the crowd is chanting ‘Rollins’ instead of ‘Ambrose.’ _Bunch of fuckin’ traitors_ , Dean grumbles as he hauls himself to his feet. Seth slides out of the ring and follows Dean to the other side, by the steel steps that lead into the ring, and they start trading blows. Eventually, Seth resorts to hard kicks to Dean’s midsection, making Dean clutch his stomach and scramble up the steel steps and back into the ring. Seth doesn’t miss a beat, forcing him into the corner and punching his stomach repeatedly, then driving his own shoulder into it, shoving Dean back into the corner every time he tries to get out of it.

When Dean finally makes it out of the corner, he heads to the other side of the ring and pushes himself off the ropes to gain momentum. Seth meets him in the middle, tries to grab his arm, but Dean slips out of Seth’s grasp and heads back to the ropes. He clings to the ropes so he doesn’t end up in another one of Seth’s traps, and when he finally lets go, he meets Seth in the middle and sends his knee straight into Seth’s crotch, causing Seth to collapse on the mat, clutching his crotch.

Of course, luck is on Dean’s side, and the low blow ends up counting as a disqualification, meaning Seth gets a point and Dean has none so far. Dean tries to argue with the referee about it, claiming the blow was an accident, but the referee’s having none of it.

Despite that, Dean takes advantage of the distraction the pain from the blow has caused Seth, and hits him with _Midnight Special_ , then goes for a pin. He gets the three-count, which makes the score even: Seth one, Dean one.

He’s more proud of that fact than he should be.

When Seth finally gets to his feet, Dean hits him with a lariat and goes for another pin. He gets the three-count again, giving him a point over Seth. Dean’s honestly shocked about how easy it’s getting to beat Seth. If only it would be like this for the rest of the remaining twenty minutes.

He crawls off of Seth and gets to his feet, dancing around impatiently as he waits for Seth to get up. “C’mon, princess,” he yells at Seth. “Hurry up, I ain’t got all day!” When Seth does get up, Dean beckons him over. Seth shakes his head, beckoning Dean over instead. Dean complies, but hits Seth with a chop, knocking him right back on his ass.

Dean bends over Seth as he struggles to get back up. “I’m better than you, Sethie,” Dean says, stabbing his index finger into his own chest repeatedly. “And ya know it. And all o’ this could be over with if you’d just admit it already.”

Seth manages to stumble to his feet, but he immediately surprises Dean, as he grabs the back of Dean’s neck and slams their foreheads together – not in a headbutt, but in something else Dean can’t identify. Seth’s hair is masking his view of anything else but Seth, and he can feel Seth’s breath on his face. “Admit it, Seth,” he whispers. Seth shakes his head, pulls his face away from Dean’s, and slaps him.

Dean stumbles backwards, the slap stunning him only momentarily. He works his jaw, rubbing his fingertips over it, before he runs at Seth and lifts him over his shoulders, attempting to go for _Midnight Special_ again. Somehow, Seth manages to work himself out of Dean’s grip, and then pulls him down and pins him. Seth gets the three-count, much to Dean’s disbelief. It makes the score tied: Seth two, Dean two, but there’s still time left. Dean’s sure he can get another pin in the time that’s left.

Dean stumbles to his feet and shoves Seth into one side of the ring when Seth stands. Dean rushes over, attempting to knock him out of the ring with a clothesline, but Seth grabs the top rope and manages to land on the apron. Before Dean gets a chance to finish the job, Seth uses the top rope to land a kick to Dean’s temple that makes his vision blur for a few moments. He stumbles back, on the verge of losing his balance, and Seth climbs onto the top rope and jumps off, crashing right into Dean and sending him toppling. Seth goes for another pin, but Dean just barely kicks out in time.

Dean and Seth both lay sprawled out on the mat for a few seconds, weary and trying to catch their breaths. Dean manages to stagger to his feet, Seth following not too long after him. Dean goes for a vertical suplex, trying to send Seth over the ropes and out of the ring, but it backfires and Dean finds himself toppling over the ropes as well, landing ungracefully in a heap on the mats outside the ring, next to Seth.

He doesn’t know why Seth does it, but he feels Seth reaching out for him, feels Seth’s fingertips grazing along the underside of his arm, making their way towards his hand. He doesn’t know why he does it, but he opens his hand, letting his fingers trail across Seth’s arm while it moves, and when Seth’s fingertips reach his hand, Dean tries to grasp his hand, but Seth pulls his arm away a second too late.

It concerns Dean that, where Seth’s fingertips had touched him, it felt like Seth was dragging fire across his skin, and when he felt Seth’s fingertips touch the palm of his hand, he was sure he felt actual sparks, that weird electricity he’d been feeling blazing.

Seth must’ve spiked his fucking water, he thinks. Either that or he’s hallucinating.

It takes Dean a whole minute and several failed attempts to get up and drag himself back into the ring. Seth is equally slow, dazed. While he waits for Seth to drag himself back into the ring, he finds himself wondering if Seth felt the fire, the electricity, when he touched Dean.

_Nah_ , he thinks. _‘S just my fuckin’ mind playing tricks on me… as usual._

When Seth finally crawls back into the ring, over to the center where Dean is, they start trading lazy, sluggish blows, both of them trying to wear the other down even further, but both too worn down already to put a hundred percent effort into their attempts.

Seth eventually stops and hauls himself over to the ropes, attempting to do a springboard moonsault off the top rope, but Dean recognizes what he’s about to do and moves out of the way so Seth hits the mat instead of him. Seth seems to be out cold, so Dean makes his way over and essentially collapses on top of Seth for a pin. He’s one hundred percent sure he’ll get the three-count, but Seth kicks out just before the referee counts to three, astonishing Dean.

Dean pulls himself to his feet and grabs Seth’s feet, placing one of his own feet firmly on Seth’s midsection, putting all his weight on that foot in hopes of Seth tapping out.

When Seth doesn’t, he changes his tactic, placing Seth in a cloverleaf. He can feel Seth trying to get away, trying to crawl his way over to the ropes, but he refuses to let Seth get that far, adjusting his position and adding pressure as necessary to keep Seth from getting anywhere.

Dean’s weary, though, and he can’t keep adding pressure forever; eventually, Seth manages to grab onto the bottom rope with one hand, forcing Dean to let go of him.

Dean stands, bent over slightly, watching Seth carefully and trying to decide what to do next. A grin spreads across his face as he gets an idea; as Seth stands and approaches him, Dean goes for Seth’s own signature move, _Avada Kedavra_ , in an attempt to mock Seth, but Seth knows it better than him and ducks out of the way. Then, turning the mockery around on Dean, Seth goes for _Midnight Special_ and hits it perfectly. He tries to pin Dean, but Dean kicks out just before the referee counts to three.

There’s less than a minute left, and both men are getting desperate.

In an attempt to finish Dean off, Seth hits him with _Avada Kedavra_ and goes for another pin, but Dean kicks out just before the end of the three-count, and just before the buzzer sounds to indicate that the thirty minutes are up and it’s announced that the match has been declared a draw.

As Dean’s trying to process what exactly just happened, he hears the general manager demand that the match be sent into sudden death overtime rules, and then he hears the bell ring to make it official.

It suddenly clicks in his brain: he’s still got a chance to win.

And there is no way in hell he will let Seth win.

Dean pulls himself to his feet and runs at Seth, but Seth hits him with a clothesline and immediately goes for a pin. Dean kicks out, not letting the match be over that easily, and gets right back up on his feet. The two men start trading fast, desperate blows, both wanting nothing more than to win and to be able to rub the win in the other’s face.  

Dean shoves Seth into the corner and starts swinging at him wildly, then grabs him by the hair and pulls him away from the ropes, dumping himself on top of Seth and pinning him. Seth somehow kicks out just before the referee counts to three, but Dean refuses to give up.

He goes for _Midnight Special_ and pins Seth again, only for Seth to somehow, just barely, kick out in time. Seth climbs to his feet and starts climbing onto the turnbuckle, but Dean follows him and attempts to go for _Midnight Special_ off the turnbuckle. Seth twists his way out of Dean’s grasp and manages to launch Dean into a powerbomb off the opposite corner. Dean falls to his knees in the center of the ring, and Seth hits him with _Avada Kedavra_ , then a second one when the first fails to knock him flat on his back. After the second one succeeds, Seth pins him, and Dean’s head is swimming, and he’s barely able to maintain consciousness, so he doesn’t even think of trying to kick out.

It barely registers to him that he’s lost; really, the only thing that registers is the way that Seth’s fingertips brush his again as Seth collapses flat on his back next to Dean on the mat.

Dean forces himself to crawl over to the ropes, clinging to the bottom rope tightly, as it’s the only thing really keeping him halfway upright. His back to Seth, he misses the way Seth stares at him the whole time, even when the referees hand Seth his precious medal, even as Seth’s trying to stand, his eyes never leave Dean.

Dean ignores the crowd chanting ‘Rollins,’ ignores Seth’s sudden presence next to him, ignores Seth climbing up onto the middle turnbuckle and leading the crowd in their chanting. He just lets go of the bottom rope and slowly rolls out of the ring, planting his feet on the mats outside the ring and nearly collapsing right then and there.

He stumbles his way backstage, proceeding to collapse just after he gets behind the curtain, pressing his back against the wall and sliding down to the floor, his knees against his chest. He presses his face into his knees, wishing his head would stop swimming so he can get the fuck out and not have to see Seth waving the medal in his face. He’s pretty sure that the next time Seth parades around with the medal, rubbing his ownership of it in Dean’s face, he’s going to shove it right up Seth’s ass.

It feels like he’s only been there a minute or two before he hears a familiar voice.

A familiar voice, but an entirely unwanted one right now.

“Hey,” Seth says, but it’s more of a shout, like he’s demanding Dean’s attention. Dean refuses to remove his face from his knees.

“Fuck off,” he mumbles into the surface of his kneepads.

“Why should I? What, you can’t handle the fact that you didn’t beat me?” Seth asks, and Dean can clearly hear the smug tone of his voice. That fucking bastard. Dean is extremely tempted to take off his shoe and throw it at Seth if it means he’ll go away.

“No,” Dean clarifies, “you should fuck off because you’re a fucking asshole and I hate you.” He presses his face into his knees harder, hoping it’ll drown out the sound of Seth’s resulting chuckle.

“Don’t worry, the feeling’s mutual.”

“Then why the fuck’re you hanging around me?” Dean asks, finally lifting his head, blinking slowly to clear his vision. Seth is crouched down next to him; surprisingly, his precious medal is nowhere to be seen.

“That’s a good question. I don’t know; why am I wasting my time around a pathetic, desperate wannabe like you?” Seth leans in, his lips almost touching Dean’s ear, as if he’s confessing a secret for only the two of them to know. “Maybe, it’s because, in your words… you fucking wish you were me.”

“Get off of me, I’m gonna catch a fuckin’ STD from your breath,” Dean mutters, and Seth smirks as he pulls back. Dean doesn’t catch the way Seth’s eyes drift from his lips to his eyes and then back to his lips, too busy genuinely contemplating whether or not to throw his shoe at Seth to notice.

Seth stands and walks away, heading down the hallway without another word. Dean realizes he didn’t really mind having Seth that close to him, and then promptly comes to the conclusion that his mind is really, _really_ fucked up. Even more so than he previously thought.

“Fuck.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “See ya, Rome. And remember… if I find out you told lil’ Sethie about what happened here today… I’ll kick your ass.”

It’s a week later, when the end of September is nearing and every store is drowning in Halloween decorations, that Dean meets Roman Reigns.

Dean creeps into the locker room the morning of a taping, pretty sure there’ll be no one around since the taping isn’t until the evening, and proceeds to break into Seth’s locker.

He picks the lock, and it’s a lot easier to than he expects. He swings open the door, studying what Seth’s got in there.

It’s not much; a handful of band shirts, a few extra pairs of wrestling trunks, and an extra set of kneepads and elbow pads. But, after rummaging through the stack of band shirts, Dean finds what he’s looking for: Seth’s precious medal, hidden between two of the shirts.

He smirks and pockets it, unable to believe that Seth was stupid enough to leave it in his locker when it seemed so important to him.

“What are you doing?”

Dean freezes momentarily, until he realizes that the voice he hears behind him is neither Seth’s voice nor the general manager’s voice, so he’s in the clear.

“What’s it to ya?” Dean answers, continuing to rummage through Seth’s things, wondering what else he can find hidden in the locker.

“Nothin’, I guess. I was just wonderin’… cause I know that ain’t your locker, and I know that ain’t your medal.”

Dean stops and checks the pocket of his jeans, only to find that he’d only hastily stuffed the medal in his pocket, so its band is sticking out above the top of it. He frowns down at it, trying to shove the offending piece of material down, so no one else will see it. Because how the hell is he gonna get out of here with Seth’s medal if everyone else can see it?

He shuts the door, spins around on his heels, and points an accusing finger at the guy standing behind him. “If you tell Seth, I’m coming after you. Personally. ‘N not in a good way.” The guy chuckles, holds his hands up in a mock sign of surrender.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell him. Hardly know him, anyway.”

“Good.” Dean doesn’t really trust the guy not to tell Seth, but he’ll take it for now. There’ll be plenty of opportunities to come after him later, if necessary.

He squints at the guy, tapping his index finger on his chin. “Don’t I know you?”

“I don’t know, do you?” That’s significantly unhelpful, Dean thinks.

Just like him. Maybe he could grow to like this guy.

He thinks for a while, knowing the guy’s name is on the tip of his tongue, but unable to locate it. The guy just smiles at him, not attempting to help at all. What a dick.

But Dean doesn’t really mind.

Finally, it comes to him. “You’re… you’re Leakee, right?”

The guy nods, leaning back against the lockers opposite from Dean. “Yeah, that’s what I go by in the ring. But you can call me Roman.”

“Roman…?”

“Reigns.”

“Roman Reigns, huh? That your real name?”

“Yeah.”

Dean grins, unable to help himself. “’S a hell of a name. How come you go by Leakee in the ring, then?”

The guy— _Roman_ , Dean mentally corrects himself—shrugs. “Dunno. Just wanted somethin’ different, I guess.”

“Makes sense. Y’know, I used to go by Jon Moxley in the ring,” he says.

“So I’ve heard.” Dean frowns; what the hell is that supposed to mean?

“What, ya been hearin’ things about me?”

Roman sighs, glances over his shoulder like he’s afraid someone’s listening in. “You’re Dean, right?”

“Yeah. Dean Ambrose. Don’t wear it out.”

“Almost the entire roster… tends to talk about you when you ain’t around.” Roman sounds hesitant, like he shouldn’t even be telling Dean this. But Dean’s glad he is.

“What’re they sayin’?”

“Just rumors. Not good ones. They say shit like you’re actually insane.”  

Dean grins mockingly. “Maybe I am actually insane. You’ll never know, _Roman_.”

In response, Roman holds his hands up again in that mock sign of surrender. “Never said you were, never said you weren’t. Just tellin’ you what I heard.”

“Well, that’s nice. But really, I couldn’t fuckin’ care less.” People had been making up rumors about him since he was in junior high; he’d grown basically numb to it by now.

Roman just nods, his eyes studying Dean, his face entirely unreadable (much to Dean’s displeasure).

“See ya, Rome. And remember… if I find out you told lil’ Sethie about what happened here today… I’ll kick your ass.”

Dean walks out of the locker room and heads for the exit, thinking that telling Roman ‘I’ll kick your ass’ was a much weaker threat than what he’d been going for.  

He hopes it’ll shut Roman up, either way.

* * *

That evening, Dean finds out that Bo Rotundo’s been injured, which means the Florida Heavyweight Championship has to be vacated.

He also finds out that, to find the next Florida Heavyweight Champion, there’s going to be a Super Eight Tournament, with eight wrestlers invited to join the tournament.

Dean joins, obviously. He knows he can win the damn thing, and when he does, he’s gonna rub the belt in Seth’s face.

Maybe literally.

Dean’s not surprised to hear that Seth and Roman join as well; he just wonders if maybe his match will be against Roman.

 _Nah, not gonna happen_ , he thinks. They’ll probably pit him against Seth again, since everyone seems to love their matches so much. Dean will be happy to kick Seth’s ass once and for all, so it doesn’t bother him.

Of course, the general manager asks for each of the eight wrestlers who join the tournament to come out when she’s announcing the creation of the tournament, like they’re show dogs.

It doesn’t really bother him, though; he figures he’ll have another chance to bother Seth. He’s got a few extra tricks up his sleeve this time, too. He honestly can’t wait to see what Seth will do.

He’d heard Seth had been looking around for his medal, thinking he’d misplaced it, but Seth hadn’t asked Dean, and no one had pointed any fingers at him yet, even Roman.

But there’s no way in hell Dean’s gonna tell Seth what happened to his medal. Besides, he must be pretty fuckin’ stupid to not realize he’d stolen it, Dean thinks.

He finds himself thinking about how excessively dumb Seth is as he waits backstage, leaning against the wall, tapping his toe impatiently against the tile floor. All of the eight wrestlers who chose to join the tournament are lined up, waiting to be announced. Dean saw Seth briefly at the front of the line (wanting the spotlight as usual, apparently), and Roman at the middle of the line. Dean, however, chose to be the last announced, wanting to be the surprise everyone had to wait on, so that’s where he finds himself now, at the back of the line, essentially alone with his thoughts.

He straightens himself when he realizes they’ve started announcing each wrestler, not wanting to miss his cue and look like a dumbass.

The announcements go faster than he expected, so he’s more than happy to come out last, giving the camera a mocking grin as he heads towards the ring. The general manager is standing in the center of the ring, with the rest of the wrestlers sort of clustered around her. Dean decides to do something different and sidles up along Roman, sliding an arm around his waist. That catches Seth’s attention, and Dean smirks as he openly stares at the two of them.

“All of these men you see here will be competing in the Super Eight Tournament,” Dean hears the general manager say. “Our first match in the tournament will be right here, right now, and it will be Leakee versus Damien Sandow. Everyone else, please leave the ring.”

Dean’s a little disappointed he doesn’t get to have a match against Roman (at least, not yet), but his disappointment doesn’t last long. He moves his arm from around Roman’s waist, grabs the waistband of his own wrestling trunks with his thumb and forefinger, and pulls Seth’s precious medal from where he’d hidden it in his trunks. He smirks at Seth, who is gaping openly at him, a mixture of confusion and anger on his face.

He brings the medal to his lips, kisses it, and then turns back to Roman. Roman is staring at him, but his face remains unreadable (Dean fucking hates how easy it apparently is for Roman to hide his emotions). Dean leans in closer, bringing his lips close to Roman's ear to whisper in it, purposely placing a hand on Roman's abdomen as he speaks.

“Good luck,” Dean murmurs, placing the medal around Roman’s neck before he can stop him. He looks directly at Roman as he pulls away, and somehow, Roman still appears to be unfazed.

Dean turns and walks away, heading out of the ring. Seth is _still_ gaping at him, his face apparently unable to settle on either confusion or anger.

“Better close your mouth, Sethie, you’re gonna catch flies,” Dean says nonchalantly as he brushes past him and heads backstage.

* * *

For all Roman seemed unfazed, Dean’s actions must’ve gotten to him, because Dean hears, in a whisper spread across the locker room and not intended for him to hear, that Roman loses the match.

Dean wonders if it would be that easy to throw Seth off his game, too.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course, he gets what he wants.  
> Because he's Dean Ambrose.

Dean’s perched on one of the locker room benches, pretending to look busy by fiddling with his cheap, cracked flip phone, when he’s suddenly hauled to his feet and slammed noisily against one of the rows of lockers. In surprise, he drops his phone, and it skitters across the floor.

He looks up and comes face to face with none other than Seth Rollins.

“Showin’ off, huh? If you made me break my phone, I'm makin' ya pay for a replacement.”

“Shut up,” Seth responds, scowling. “What the fuck was that little stunt back there?”

“Got no idea what you’re talkin’ about.” His head slams against the locker behind him as Seth grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks. He groans, taking a few seconds to recover. “Watch the fuckin’ merchandise, alright?”

“You know what I’m fucking talking about. Don’t play dumb,” Seth growls. Dean sighs and rolls his eyes in mock irritation. He should be pissed, but really, he finds Seth’s anger funny as hell.

So he’s just gonna roll with it.

“Okay, that’s true, I do know what you’re talkin’ about. But I dunno what part of it has got ya so mad. Was it me puttin’ your precious little medal in my trunks? Or was it me givin’ that medal to Leakee? Or… was it me feelin’ up Leakee that’s got ya so mad? Or… all of those?”

“I don’t give a fuck about Leakee. I give a fuck about you stealing my championship medal.”

“Ya sure? Cause I dunno about that… you looked real jealous when I was touchin’ Leakee. Like you wanted to be him.” Dean grins, more a baring of teeth than anything else. “Or, like you wanted to be me. Do ya got the hots for Leakee, Sethie?”

“Shut up,” Seth says, his voice lowering in pitch, his face looking for all the world like he wanted to kill Dean. Dean just knew the kid didn’t have the guts to do it.

Seth makes the mistake of loosening his grip on Dean’s hair, and Dean takes advantage of the opportunity and pries himself out of Seth’s grasp.

Before Seth can stop him, he’s dancing around the locker room, singing obnoxiously loudly, “LEAKEE AND SETHIE, SITTIN’ IN A TREE, K-I-S-S—“

He’s interrupted by Seth grabbing the lapels of his jacket and slamming him back up against the locker, then slapping his palm over Dean’s mouth in a poor attempt to shut him up.

Instead of being quiet like Seth so obviously desires, Dean decides to be the obvious pain in the ass, and licks Seth’s palm.

It tastes like sweat.

Seth grimaces in disgust, removing his palm from its position over Dean’s mouth and wiping his hand off on Dean’s bare chest. Dean grins salaciously, winking at him.  

“Why can’t you ever be normal?” Seth asks, his voice layered with notes of frustration and something else that sounds like weariness. As if he’s thinking _fine, be weird, I don’t fucking care anymore_ in regards to Dean.

Dean likes the thought that he’s worn Seth out.

“’Cause I missed class on the day they were teachin’ how to be normal.” Seth rolls his eyes.

“You’re the biggest asshole I have ever met, you know that?”

“I do, but thanks for remindin’ me.”

Seth sighs and lets go of him, much to his surprise. He was honestly expecting Seth to beat him around a little bit, maybe yell at him a lot more than he did.

He’s almost disappointed; it’s like Seth’s given up.

“Just…” Seth starts, and Dean can see him clearly falter. “Don’t steal my championship again, okay?”

“No promises, princess.”

Seth gives him a perturbed look, but doesn’t press the issue. Instead, he walks away, brushing past someone else who’s approaching Dean.

Dean smirks as he realizes it’s Leakee ( _Roman,_ he corrects himself). Oh, this could be fun.

Roman looks awfully serious, though. The guy needs to lighten up.

“So…” Dean begins as Roman approaches. “Ya know, I think Sethie’s got the hots for ya. But I dunno, he doesn’t really look your type.” That evokes the faintest flicker of a smile on Roman’s face, but otherwise, that serious expression stays firmly in place. “What’s up, Rome?”

“What was that?” is all Roman says. Dean squints at him, confused.

“What was what?”

“That. In the ring.” Oh. That.

“Are you and Seth in cahoots or somethin’? Cause he just asked me that. You two comin’ in here to interrogate me?”

“I just want to know what the hell that was.”

Dean purses his lips, taps his finger on his chin, pretending to be in deep thought. “Well,” he concludes, “it was me havin’ some fun.”

“Some fun?” Dean looks up, meeting Roman’s eyes, and he sees an odd darkness in Roman’s eyes that he’s never seen before.

It kinda looks nice on him.

“You practically shoved your hand down my trunks on live television, and you call that ‘some fun?’”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean says, pointing an accusing finger at Roman’s chest. “I did no such thing. I just touched those nice abs o’ yours, that’s all. N’ I gave you Seth’s little medal, cause I figured it’d be fun. And it was fun, at least for me, cause I got ‘im to throw a temper tantrum. I’m sure you woulda loved it if you had seen it.”  

Roman’s silent, and the tension in the air is actually making Dean a little anxious, so to rid himself of some of his anxiety, he drums his fingers against his collarbone, the pressure of each tap keeping him grounded.

That darkness in Roman’s eyes is still there when he finally speaks. “Well, you should just be careful who you do that to. Not everyone is gonna consider it just ‘some fun.’”

“Noted,” Dean says, making a mockery out of Roman’s apparent warning, because that’s just what he does.

When Roman leaves him be, he’s left horribly, entirely confused by everything that had happened; Seth’s softening under his persistent insults, Roman’s warning for just having a bit of fun.

He thinks maybe, just maybe, he’s gotten himself into some deep shit.

But that’s fine; he grew up in deep shit, he knows how to function best in deep shit.

* * *

He goes to the general manager and asks for his opponent in the Super Eight Tournament to be Seth, and for the match to be the first match of next week’s taping.

Of course, he gets what he wants.

Because he’s Dean Ambrose.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You got something that belongs to Dean. You best give it back... or else things are going to get real ugly."

One week later, a few hours before the taping, Dean has an incident.

Surprisingly, Seth is not the cause of the incident, initially. Seth’s been ignoring him for the past couple of days, still pissed about Dean’s interference in his match against Damien Sandow to defend the FCW 15 Championship that resulted in him losing by disqualification (because of Dean interfering, no less).

Even when Dean has attempted to converse with him since then, attempting to provoke him, all Dean has received are icy stares, a scowl ever present on Seth’s face.

It makes Dean clutch his chest in mock pain and cry out “Oh, you’re killing me, Sethie, you’re so cold!” but even that doesn’t earn a response. Dean actually misses the insults Seth used to hurl at him.

None of that’s really on his mind as he prepares for his match against Seth. It’s not for another couple hours, but Dean hopes to spend most of the time getting ready, and then spend maybe a half-hour trying to provoke Seth. It’s been _forever_ since they last had a match (not really, it’s been two weeks), and Dean wants this one to be great.

Not that the rest haven’t been great, but their best matches seem to occur only after Dean purposely provokes Seth, trying to get in his head. It’s like Seth lashes out with every fiber of his being, and being in the ring with him is… well, electric.

That’s what Dean wants. The electricity that had become so familiar to him by now, yet never any less exhilarating than the last.

So Dean busies himself by getting ready; he bounces around on the balls of his feet, rolls his neck, cracks his knuckles, throws jabs at an imaginary opponent. No one else in the locker room is paying him any attention, used to what they consider as his “weird habits.”

He stops bouncing around for a moment to rifle through his bag, looking for the water bottle he always has stored in there. A frown creases his face when he doesn’t immediately find it, and he proceeds to search through the bag a second time, knowing it has to be in there – he distinctly remembers placing it in his bag before he left to head to the taping – but still not finding it.

In typical Ambrose fashion, he picks up his bag, opens it, and turns it upside down, dumping all its contents unceremoniously on the bench in front of him. He rifles through everything that falls out, doing a mental checklist of what should be in there as compared to what he finds. Spare clothes, check. Phone, check. Athletic tape, check. One of Seth’s hair ties, check. His water bottle is still missing, but that’s not what concerns him the most.

His medicine is missing.

Dean will never admit to anyone that he has problems; his head’s fucked, legitimately, and his past is so dark it might as well be a fuckin’ soap opera. He’s been prescribed medicine to try to control how fucked things get in his head, but he rarely takes the medicine. It makes him feel numb, detached, and that numb, detached feeling is hard to overcome in the ring. So he rarely takes the medicine, but he likes to know he has the option to, likes to know that if he wants to, he can choose not to feel anything.

So when he discovers his medicine is missing, all rational behavior goes out the window, and he panics.

His chest feels like it’s compressing in on itself, and he tries to breathe but he can’t, he can’t, when the fuck did breathing get so hard, and his hand flutters near his throat like he’s being choked by some invisible entity, and he can’t breathe.

“Dean? Are you okay?” It registers in the back of his mind that the voice belongs to Roman; Dean had seen him not long ago in the locker room, Roman must’ve seen the panic in his eyes just now and apparently came over to see what was wrong, but Dean can’t answer him.

He can’t even remember to breathe, much less talk, and so he’s mostly silent, little hitching breaths like hiccups making their way out of him, but they hurt, and Dean’s eyes are wide, because he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, or what to do, or how to stop it.

“Dean?” Roman’s face comes into his line of vision now, concern etched across his face, and Dean _wants_ to calm the fuck down and say “I’m fine, chill out, Rome,” but he doesn’t know how to.

Apparently Roman knows what the fuck’s going on, because his tone shifts into something more authoritative, but at the same time impossibly calming. “Dean. Look at me.”

That’s the one thing Dean _can_ do right now, and he slowly shifts his gaze until his eyes lock with Roman’s. He’s vaguely aware of Roman taking one of his hands and placing it on Roman’s chest, right over his sternum. Roman’s hand is warm over his, a subtly comforting pressure.

“I want you to breathe, okay? Breathe for me. Like this,” Roman says, and takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly, letting Dean feel the rise and fall of his chest.

Dean wants to yell “I _can’t_ , I can’t fucking breathe, Roman!” because it hurts to even _try_ to breathe, but he tries. He tries his damnedest, forcing himself to suck air into his lungs, forcing himself to mimic Roman.

After what feels like an eternity, it’s easier for him to breathe, the pressure on his chest slowly dissipating, but he still trembles, and he’s not sure he can speak.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Roman asks quietly, as if he can read Dean’s thoughts. Dean mulls it over; on the one hand, he risks telling Roman all about his mental problems, and having Roman laugh at him and then tell the whole roster, so they can say ‘ _Ambrose is actually insane, don’t know how the fuck he thinks he stands a chance here’_ , but on the other hand, he doesn’t think Roman’s like that. He barely knows Roman, but there’s already a small part of Dean that trusts him.

That frightens him.

Roman’s face softens as he watches Dean contemplate, as if he’s personally witnessing the argument going on inside Dean’s head, as if he can hear every word of it. “I just want to help you.”

Dean can hear the sincerity in Roman’s voice, and he’s never been a very good judge of character, but at that point he says _fuck it_ and gives in.

His first attempt at telling Roman what happened results in an incoherent mumble. Roman gives him a soft smile and says “Sorry, but I can’t hear you.” Roman even makes a point to lean in, as if that’ll make it easier for him.

Dean finds himself wondering who the fuck ever allowed Roman Reigns to exist.

His second attempt is a little better, but he can’t bring himself to a full explanation. So he just mutters “My medicine,” hoping that’s good enough.

“Your what?”

Dean presses the index finger of his free hand to his lips in a shushing motion, really not wanting anyone else to hear their conversation. Even though probably half the roster heard him losing his shit only a few minutes before. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were eavesdropping.

He licks his lips and tries desperately to ignore how Roman’s thumb is stroking over the back of his hand, still pressed to Roman’s chest.

“Medicine.”

Roman’s expression doesn’t change; Dean doesn’t get the look of disgust or even confusion that he was expecting. But all Dean sees is a soft, almost fond gaze.

“Okay. And what about it?”

Dean silently thanks him for not repeating the word.

“’S gone.”

“Gone how?”

“I put it in my bag before I came here… ‘n now it’s not there. Like someone stole it.” He finds his ability to form coherent sentences coming back slowly, his body somehow relaxing under Roman’s touch.

Dean’s questioning how the hell that can be, but he’s got more pressing issues at hand, so he buries that thought for the time being.

“You think someone stole it?”

“Uh-huh.”

That’s when Dean catches something in Roman’s eyes shift; he swears he sees a flash of anger, and Dean doesn’t understand it, but he’s not gonna question it.

“C’mon,” Roman says, turning abruptly, dropping his hand from his chest (and with it, Dean’s hand), and startling Dean by lacing their fingers together.

He doesn’t really feel up to protesting, though, so he allows it. “Where’re we goin’?” Dean asks as Roman starts gently pulling him along, half-hidden like a shadow.

“To get your thing back.”

Dean realizes a second too late that they’re heading for Seth, who’s oblivious, humming something under his breath while putting on one of his stupid band shirts. Dean struggles to get away, harboring no desire to see Seth in this state, but Roman tightens his grip and doesn’t let him get away. When Roman stops in his tracks, only a couple feet away from Seth, Dean sighs and presses his face into Roman’s shoulder, grumbling under his breath.

“Seth,” Roman says, his voice firm, unrelenting. Seth turns, confused.

“Oh, uh, hey, Leakee… Dean,” Seth says slowly, cautiously, like he expects Roman and Dean to start beating the hell out of him right then and there. Dean personally thinks that sounds like a hell of a good time, but he chooses not to voice that thought. “Can I help you?”

Roman says nothing, just holds his hand out flat, palm up. Seth’s eyes move to Roman’s hand and then back to his eyes, questioning.

“What?”

“You got something that belongs to Dean. You best give it back… or else things are going to get real ugly.”

Dean actually smiles, trying his best to hide it in the skin of Roman’s shoulder.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Like hell you don’t. Hand it over.”

“Leakee—“

“ _Now_.”

Dean raises his head, peeks out from behind Roman to watch Seth, who immediately gives up when Roman brings out his threatening tone. Seth opens his locker and digs through it until he finds what Roman’s asking for; an average-sized orange pill bottle. He hands it to Roman, who hands it to Dean without a second glance. Dean shoves it in his jacket pocket hastily and disentangles his fingers from Roman’s.

Dean spots a water bottle sitting on the bench, next to what’s presumably Seth’s phone, and his eyes narrow as he realizes Seth also stole his water bottle. Dean snatches the water bottle, opens it up and takes a sip, feeling Roman and Seth’s eyes on him all the while.

He pretends to swallow the water he has in his mouth, then proceeds to spit it into Seth’s face. Seth instinctively flinches and raises a hand to block it, but it’s too late. Dean pours the rest of the water on him, too, just for good measure, and then flings the bottle at Seth’s face. Seth is spluttering, droplets of water falling from his hair and trickling down his chest. Dean can hear Roman chuckling, and he almost smiles again, sinking his teeth into his lip at the last second to mask it as a smirk.

“Karma always comes to bite ya in the ass, doesn’t it?” Dean asks, his eyes sweeping up and down the length of Seth’s body. “If you ever take that again…” and here, the tone of his voice changes, becoming deadly serious, “I’ll personally make sure there’ll be hell to pay. See ya, _Sethie_ ,” Dean says, saluting him, then turning and heading back to his things on the other side of the locker room.

He’s still got a match to get ready for, and he intends to make Seth wish he’d never stolen Dean’s medicine in the first place.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So I hope you ain't feelin' neglected, Sethie, cause I think I'm takin' real good care of ya."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW content in this chapter, specifically slight exhibitionism and dirty talk. Please skip this chapter if you're uncomfortable with either of those things.

Half an hour before his match, Dean feels better.

At least, he thinks so. He’s still questioning why Roman was so… affectionate with him, but he’s no longer panicky, his medicine safely tucked away in his bag and his bag placed where no one would think to look for it.

He feels confident about his match; he may not have won the last one he’d had against Seth, but he’d come damn close. That’s why Dean’s certain he’ll win this one; he’d gotten the first pin last time, and this time, he’s got a foolproof plan to throw Seth off and make it even easier for him to pick up the victory.

He grins to himself as he adjusts his wrestling gear one last time before he heads over to the other side of the locker room, knowing Seth will still be there.

He’s got to pay him a visit.

* * *

The locker room is fairly empty, with most of those who have a match scheduled for tonight’s taping already ready to go, killing time in some other part of the building.

Seth is leaning up against his locker, looking at something on his phone when Dean approaches, paying Dean no attention.

“Hey, Seth,” Dean greets, mimicking Seth’s pose and leaning against the locker next to Seth’s. Seth still ignores him, and Dean refuses to tolerate it, so he snatches Seth’s phone out of his hands and drops it on the floor, then lightly kicks it away, sending it sliding across the floor before finally coming to a stop several feet away.

Seth frowns, finally giving Dean his attention. “What the hell was that for?”

“You weren’t paying attention to me,” Dean says simply.

Seth scoffs. “Like you’re worth my attention.”

“Ouch. That really hurts,” Dean says, clutching his chest, pretending to be in pain. “I thought I meant somethin’ to you, Sethie.”

The man in question rolls his eyes, as if he’s already tired of Dean’s presence. Dean can’t blame him. “Whatever. What do you want?”

“I jus’ wanted to know if we could… y’know, start fresh?” Dean asks, moving closer to Seth. He doesn’t mean a word of it; he can’t imagine not irritating Seth, not experiencing that anger that always adds an edge to their matches.

Seth’s brow furrows, and Dean can see a mixture of confusion and suspicion on his face. Perfect.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, c’mon, Sethie, y’know what I mean. Start fresh; pretend like these last few months didn’t happen; be friends, I dunno.” He scoots closer, and his thigh bumps against Seth’s.

“You want me to pretend that you didn’t walk in here three months ago, insult me, and challenge me for my title?”

Aw, Seth still remembers when he got there. That’s so cute, Dean thinks.

In a definitely not serious way.

Because Seth Rollins isn’t cute.

…Is he?

Dean shakes his head rapidly, trying to rid himself of that thought. Thoughts like that are only gonna ruin him and his plan.

“Your _former_ title,” Dean corrects. “But, yeah. Basically.”

Seth seems like he’s genuinely contemplating it (which is a rarity in itself), and Dean takes advantage of his silence to move even closer, carefully placing one foot in between Seth’s feet.

“No,” Seth finally says, seemingly oblivious to how little distance there now is between himself and Dean. “Can’t do that.”

Dean sticks out his bottom lip in a mock pout. “Why not?”

“Because…” Seth trails off, and he seems to be struggling for words, which pleases Dean. It’s not often he actually makes Seth speechless; the guy’s got a big mouth, never shuts up.

“Because why?” Dean prompts, taking that final step forward, slotting his leg in between Seth’s thighs.

“Because – what the fuck are you doing?”

Seth’s noticed.

Took him long enough.

“What do you mean?” Dean asks innocently. “I’m just talkin’ to you. We’re havin’ a conversation, I think.”

“What is your _leg_ doing?”

“Being attached to the rest of my body,” Dean responds matter-of-factly, grinning at the irritated look he receives.

“Seriously, Dean. What the fuck are you doing?”

”Nothin’,” Dean says, shifting his weight so his hip bumps against Seth’s crotch.

He can actually feel Seth’s dick against his hip, the material of Seth’s wrestling trunks way too thin for his liking.

He’s not sure what to do with that piece of information.

“Get off of me.”

“Hmm… no.”

“Get the fuck off of me,” Seth demands, the last word turning into a choked gasp as Dean grinds himself against Seth, more to bother Seth than anything else.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

Seth’s body betrays him, his dick twitching in interest against Dean’s hip, and he smirks.

“I dunno if you really want that,” Dean says nonchalantly. “You seem pretty interested.”

“I’m not – _fuck_ ,” Seth’s sentence is cut off with a moan as Dean reaches down and blatantly palms him through his trunks. Seth actually pushes himself into Dean’s hand, his hips lifting slightly, and Dean almost laughs at how well his plan is going.

He knew it was gonna be easy to mess with Seth, but never thought it would be _this_ easy.

He makes a mental note to himself: touch Seth’s dick and he’s putty in your hands.

“You are so fuckin’ easy,” Dean murmurs conspiratorially. “I’ve barely even touched ya and you’re already actin’ like a fuckin’ whore.”

Seth moans again in response, his eyes fluttering shut. Dean chances a glance over his shoulder and moves slightly in an attempt to conceal Seth from the rest of the locker room.

“Maybe you are a fuckin’ whore,” Dean says, continuing to stroke over the surface of Seth’s trunks. “I bet you’re gettin’ off on the thought of how public this is, cause you want everyone to see ya, want everyone to see how much of a whore you are for me. Cause you like knowin’ someone could find you like this, beggin’ for me to touch your dick. You like it cause you’re fuckin’ _sick_ ,” Dean punctuates this word with a squeeze, and Seth’s resulting moan actually changes in pitch. “But ‘s okay. Cause I’ll take care of ya; I don’t like to leave my whores feelin’ neglected. So I hope you ain’t feelin’ neglected, Sethie, cause I think I’m takin’ real good care of ya.”

Seth fucking whimpers, and Dean is decidedly concerned when his own dick twitches at the sound. He cannot, absolutely _cannot_ , let himself fall victim to his own game.

It’ll ruin everything.

“Dean,” Seth whines, and Dean is mentally cataloging what his name sounds like on Seth’s tongue in this state (with a tiny bit of chagrin, he won’t lie).

“I’ve got ya, princess,” Dean reassures him. Seth’s hips jerk, and Dean moves his head closer to Seth’s, putting his lips close to Seth’s ear, allowing his hand to continue its administrations.

“C’mon, Sethie,” Dean encourages, his voice low. “Show ‘em how much of a whore you are for me. Show ‘em how much you love it when I touch you, show ‘em how bad you want me to touch you. Show ‘em how I could do anythin’ to you and you’d beg for more. I could take you right here on this goddamn floor and you’d fuckin’ love it. I could shut you up with my dick and someone could come in, find you on your knees and bein’ choked with it, and you’d fuckin’ come in your panties.”

Seth moans again, his hips jerking erratically. Dean smirks and speeds up his motions.

“Open your eyes,” Dean orders. Much to his surprise, Seth obeys him, opening his eyes. They immediately find Dean, and their gazes lock. Seth looks like he’s in another world, his eyes clouded with lust.

If you ask him, he will swear on his life he never thought this, but right now, Dean thinks it’s one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen in his life. “Don’t you dare look away. ‘Cause I want you to see who did this to you, who debauched you in the middle of an empty fuckin’ locker room. I want you to see how I broke you, because, Seth Rollins…” Dean pauses, for necessary dramatic effect. “I am going to fucking _ruin_ you.”

Seth moans brokenly, his hips jerking again, and Dean feels a wet spot form on the front of Seth’s trunks. He laughs in disbelief.

“Holy shit, did you just fuckin’ come?” Dean drags his thumb over the wet spot, and Seth shudders. “You did. Holy fuckin’ shit. God, you really are a whore.” Dean pulls his hand away, wipes any lingering wetness off on Seth’s shirt.

He looks at his wrist, checking an imaginary wristwatch, and then looks back at Seth, smirking at him. “Well, would you look at that. Looks like it’s time for our match.” He steps back, pulling his leg from between Seth’s thighs. At that point, Dean had been the only thing holding him up, Seth boneless from his orgasm, and Dean watches with a smirk as Seth slowly slides to the floor, his legs unable to hold him up any longer.

“I’ll see ya in the ring, princess,” Dean says as means of a goodbye, promptly turning on his heel and heading out of the locker room.

He’s got the win in the bag.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because being that close to Seth makes his brain stop functioning, apparently.  
> And if he actually kisses Seth, he is doomed.   
> With a capital D.

Dean was actually fairly truthful when he’d told Seth it was time for their match; when he exits the locker room, he finds there are actually only 5 minutes until the match, so he heads to the backstage area and waits behind the curtain.

When he’s announced, he enters with a swagger in his step, raising his eyebrows and smirking at the camera that’s trained on his face. He enters the ring quickly, raising his arms with a dramatic flourish. He grabs the top rope and shakes it, tilting his head toward the entryway, knowing Seth has to be lurking just behind the curtain. He smirks to himself as he thinks of what conspired only minutes before.

This is going to be so easy.

Dean paces around the ring a few times before he backs into his corner, crooking his fingers at the entryway, waiting expectantly for Seth to appear.

When Seth’s announced, he enters slowly, taking his time to show off to the crowd, but he looks much more composed than he had when Dean had left him. He hasn’t changed, and Dean snickers when he thinks about how uncomfortable it’s gotta be.

Seth’s eyes find his, and he’s just radiating ice – if looks could kill, Dean would’ve been dead before Seth even came out from behind the curtain. Dean smirks knowingly and winks, and Seth breaks the stare, looking out towards the crowd as he heads into the ring.  

Dean rolls his eyes as Seth jumps onto the middle turnbuckle, showing off again. “C’mon, Sethie, get down from there and fight me!” he shouts. “Unless you’re too scared, cause you know I’m gonna beat ya.”

Seth jumps down from the turnbuckle and approaches the middle of the ring. Dean comes forward to meet him, continuing his attempts to antagonize Seth.

“How ‘bout this, Sethie… I’ll let you walk outta the ring right now, unscathed, and we’ll call it a day. You just forfeit and you won’t have to worry about gettin’ your pretty ass beat.”

Seth’s eyes narrow after Dean calls him pretty (which is something Dean realizes he said after it’s too late), but he simply shakes his head and pulls his shirt over his head.

“Why not?” Dean questions. “I think it’s a fair deal. Cause we already know I’m gonna beat ya, so if I just let ya walk out of the ring before the match even starts, ya won’t have to deal with the humiliation of bein’ beaten.”

“Look,” Seth hisses, “I don’t know what the fuck that was back there, but there’s no chance in hell I’m going to walk out of this ring before I make sure you’re beaten into a bloody heap. So you can forget it.”

“That back there? That was me playin’ games with your head… and you just really liked it.”

“I didn’t like it!” Seth snaps, a statement belied by the flush of his cheeks, as if he’s recalling the moment.

“Sure ya didn’t. Think your body said otherwise.” Dean grins and cracks his knuckles casually. “But whatever ya want, princess. We’ll just see what happens… and by that, I mean ‘watch as I knock ya right out of this tournament.’” With that, he walks back to his corner. Seth stalks after him, but the referee stops him, the match not yet officially started.

Dean takes off his jacket and throws it out of the ring, turning back around to face Seth just as the bell rings to officially start the match. The two of them circle each other for a while, as if they’re both predators searching out their prey, and Dean mouths at him ‘ _I’m watching you_ ’.

Eventually, Seth reaches his hand out, slowly, cautiously, and Dean instinctively reaches his out as well. Their hands meet, and their fingers slot together. The weird burst of electricity Dean feels from that simple contact is enough to throw him off and allow Seth to try to put him in a submission hold, but Dean manages to get himself together and break out of Seth’s grip.

Dean meanders his way back into his corner, turning back around to face Seth and bouncing on the balls of his feet. ‘ _C’mon, Sethie_ ,’ Dean mouths, wanting to goad Seth into attacking him.

It works, and Seth tries to go after him, but Dean dodges every one of his attempts and ends up in his corner again, grinning at Seth derisively, while Seth stares at him with suspicion prominently present in his eyes.

“Hey, princess!” Dean shouts across the ring at him. “You see that?” he asks, pointing to the image of the Florida Heavyweight Championship plastered on the wall. “That’s gonna be mine. You just wait and see.” He steps into the center of the ring, and Seth, now angered by his brashness, makes a point to meet him there. But Seth doesn’t attack Dean, and he takes that as his opportunity to continue talking.

“’S gonna be mine. Maybe I’ll put custom plates on it, huh? Think they’ll let me? I think it’d look real nice all customized.”

“Your custom plates would _tarnish_ that belt,” Seth spits. Dean pretends to look offended, but in a split-second his offended look disappears and his smug grin is back. He subconsciously steps forward, making the distance between himself and Seth almost minimal.

Dean pantomimes putting the belt around his waist, that smug grin still present on his face, and growing as Seth seethes, his jaw clenched. “I think it’d look real hot on me, too. What do ya think? Think it’d make me even better looking than I already am?”

“ _Fuck_ no!” Seth exclaims incredulously. Dean moves a little bit closer and he realizes that their faces are only a couple inches apart, and _wow_ , Seth looks really pretty from this close and _what the fuck am I thinking_?

“You would ruin the belt. It would mean _nothing_ if it was around your waist. Because that’s what you are, _Deano:_ nothing.”

Dean realizes with a start that he wants to kiss Seth to shut him up.

He slaps his hands against Seth’s chest, shoving him away abruptly, pretending that it was Seth’s insult that made him shove the other man away, but in reality it was that thought.

Because being that close to Seth makes his brain stop functioning, apparently.

And if he actually kisses Seth, he is _doomed_.

With a capital D.

Seth, unaware of the argument and possible breakdown that is currently occurring in Dean’s head, shoves him back, just as hard.

So Dean shoves Seth back again. Seth takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to rein in his anger.

“You don’t have what it takes to be champion,” Dean declares. He opens his mouth to add more, but he stumbles backward instead as Seth shoves him again. Tired of just shoving Seth, he lunges for him, and the two start trading vicious blows, pulling at each other’s hair and trying to hit whatever they can reach on the other. Dean grabs Seth’s hair and slams his head into Seth’s, and the impact is enough to knock them both backward.

When they lunge for each other again, they end up locked in a very awkward position, almost like a ball, both of them trying to get the other’s shoulders on the ground to pin them, but each of them rolling a different direction so they can’t get pinned. That lasts for a good thirty seconds, with several one-counts and two-counts achieved but never a three-count, so Dean grows tired of it and starts punching at Seth wildly to get him to let go.

He rushes to his feet when Seth finally lets go, observing Seth for a few moments. Seth’s elbow is wrapped with athletic tape (something Dean had apparently missed in their encounter in the locker room), and a smirk spreads across Dean’s face when a devious, yet foolproof plan comes to him.

Dean grabs Seth’s arm and twists it behind his back (not missing the scream Seth makes as Dean does that, the shoulder obviously still very tender), then starts unraveling the tape. Seth makes several attempts to get away, but Dean never lets him, just increases the pressure on his arm until Seth looks to be on the verge of tears. Once Dean gets the tape off, he flings it out of the ring, and then continues his administrations to Seth’s arm. Seth screams every time Dean bends his arm in a way that it shouldn’t be bent (injured or not), and Dean relishes in the fact that he can abuse Seth’s weakness.

He forces Seth to his knees, then grabs Seth’s hand and laces their fingers together, before he pulls Seth’s arm up, studying the mottled bruising on Seth’s skin. He actually finds himself wondering what exactly happened; he knows it must be the evidence of an in-ring injury in a match against someone other than himself, but it looks pretty bad.

Because he’s Dean Ambrose and the concept of boundaries does not exist in his world, he drives the elbow of his free arm into the bruise. Seth grits his teeth, trying not to scream anymore, but one look at his face and Dean knows he’s feeling it. Dean swipes his hand across Seth’s eyes and is inordinately pleased when his fingers come away wet. He’s made Seth cry from pain (although Seth will probably say it’s just sweat in his eyes, the motherfucker).

Dean drags his fingernails across the bruise before continuing to drive his elbow into it, thoroughly taking advantage of Seth’s injury. Seth screams again, and his eyes are wild with fury and pain. “C’mon, Seth,” Dean urges. “Just tap out and all of this will be over.” But Seth shakes his head furiously, knowing, as Dean does, how humiliating it would be to lose to him.

Much to Dean’s surprise, Seth manages to elbow him in the midsection, repeating the action until Dean’s grip on Seth’s arm loosens and he manages to squirm away. He gets to his feet, cradling his injured arm to his chest all the while, and kicks Dean’s midsection after Dean gets up, sending him back down to his knees.

Dean gets up again, only for Seth’s foot to connect with his midsection again, and Seth repeats it until Dean is hunched over, clutching his abdomen. Seth then runs to the ropes and bounces off of them, hitting Dean with a _Curb Stomp_ that sends him sprawling onto the canvas. Seth reaches for him, but Dean rolls out of the ring and stumbles onto the mats outside the ring, barely keeping upright. He has to hold onto the apron to stay on his feet, his head swimming.

He’s looking down at the mats underneath his feet when something collides with him, sending him into the metal barricade separating the crowd and the ring, the weight of the collision forcing him to collapse in a heap on the mats.

He’s only dimly aware that the thing that collided with him was a flying Seth Rollins.

He forces himself to get up and rolls back into the ring, though he nearly falls flat on his face once he stands up in the ring. He manages to get his bearings and turns around in time to see Seth about to jump from the top turnbuckle, but he runs over and attacks Seth, forcing him to collapse to a seated position on the turnbuckle. Dean climbs onto the middle rope and starts dragging his nails down Seth’s back. When he tires of that, he starts throwing punches at Seth and manages to knock him off the turnbuckle.

Seth lands on the apron and tries to go for a springboard assault using the ropes, but Dean pulls himself out of the way, and Seth somehow lands right on his injured arm. Taking advantage of the pain that maneuver causes Seth, Dean hauls him onto his shoulders and goes for _Midnight Special_ , then pins him.  

Seth doesn’t even attempt to kick out, and Dean pulls himself to his feet after the referee finishes the three-count, doing a victory lap around the ring. The referee raises his arm, and once the referee lets go to go check on Seth, Dean again pantomimes putting the championship belt around his waist, grinning.

He bounces around the ring a little bit, then turns back to face Seth and the referee. Seth is lying on his back on the mat, not having moved from where Dean pinned him, and the referee’s apparently making sure he’s not seriously injured.

“What’s the matter, Sethie?” Dean calls, taunting him. “Can’t get up? Or just can’t deal with the fact that I beat ya… just like I said I would? Ya knew it was gonna happen; you got no one to blame but yourself. I gave ya a chance to get out, save yourself the embarrassment, but ya declined… so this is what happens.”

Seth is still laying in the ring, clutching his injured arm, when Dean heads out of the ring and back down the entryway, spinning around and telling the camera confidently “I’m gonna be the champion” before he ducks behind the curtain.

It’s his first real victory against Seth Rollins, and it tastes so fucking good.

* * *

Twenty minutes after the match finds Dean in the locker room changing out of his wrestling gear and into his street clothes.

It also finds Seth confronting Dean in the locker room (thankfully, just after Dean had finished changing; he was not going to give Seth the pleasure of seeing his very nice-looking naked body).

“Hey,” Seth says, just as Dean has his back turned and is trying to decide whether to leave his extra knee pads in his locker or in his bag. It isn’t a friendly ‘hey;’ it’s a sharp, ‘give me your attention or I’ll punch you in the face’ kind of hey.

Dean smirks, turning around to face Seth. “What’s up, princess?”

“Don’t call me that,” Seth says, scowling. Dean notes that Seth is still cradling his injured arm to his chest, but the tape that he’d ripped off has been replaced with fresh tape.

Dean kind of wants to rip the new tape off, too.

“Sure thing… princess.” Dean looks away for what is probably two seconds, just to shut his locker, and when he looks back Seth is all in his face, way too close for his liking.

Like, way, way, _way_ too close.

Doesn’t Seth know that personal space is a thing?

“I fucking hate you,” Seth says, his voice low, but Dean can’t really hear any malice in the statement. It sounds almost fond.

Which is scary.

He does not want Seth to think of him fondly.

“I fucking hate you too,” Dean says, echoing him. Just like Seth’s statement, his statement lacks malice, containing only curiosity. He’s curious as to what Seth wants, curious as to what Seth’s doing… just curious.

Their faces are only a couple inches apart, and Dean takes advantage of their closeness to study Seth’s face. He can see the tell-tale signs of exhaustion, the slightest hint of bags under Seth’s eyes, probably the result of a sleepless night or two – the business will do that to you, Dean’s had plenty of sleepless nights himself – but he also sees, much to his horror, that Seth is really, really pretty.

His face is all sharp angles with a hint of baby fat, and light stubble adorns his jawline. His eyes are brown, almost black, and they honestly look like they contain all of the answers to the various mysteries of the world.

Dean really thinks he could look at Seth all day long and never grow tired of it.

He suddenly realizes that Seth is leaning in; he can feel Seth’s breath, hot on his face, and their noses bump, and _holy shit, is Seth going to kiss him_? His mind promptly blanks into a series of ‘what the fuck’s’, because he is entirely unprepared for this.

Just as it seems as if their lips will touch, Dean hears the door to the locker room open, and a voice he can’t recognize at that second calls out “Seth?” Seth swears under his breath, pulling away. He gives Dean a look that he recognizes only as ‘ _we’ll finish this later_ ’, and walks away.

Dean collapses on the bench by his locker, out of breath like he just ran ten miles (it occurs to him that he was holding his breath), horribly confused and unsettled.

_What the fuck was that_?


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's almost one hundred percent certain that he is now very, very much in deep shit.

One week later, there’s a fatal four-way match held to determine who will become the new Florida Heavyweight Champion.

The fact that it’s a fatal four-way match bothers Dean a little bit; he can lose without even being pinned. But he knows the fans ( _the few fans they have_ , he scoffs) are stuck in the mindset of ‘the more wrestlers in the ring at one time, the better,’ and so instead of having a couple more matches to come down to a final one versus one match for the championship, a fatal four-way match has been decided upon.

But Dean’s confident that he’ll win. The Florida Heavyweight Championship title has his name written all over it.

(Almost literally. Dean had contemplated writing his name on it, but decided against it at the last second.)

Dean sees both Roman and Seth in the locker room before the match. Roman tells him good luck, apparently harboring no bad feelings toward Dean, despite the fact that his distraction caused Roman to lose his chance to win the title. Then again, Dean can never really tell how Roman’s feeling; the man’s so goddamn stoic, and every time Dean sees any strong emotion in his eyes, it disappears almost as soon as it appears.

Seth just gives him a look he can’t quite decipher, his lips pressed together in a thin line. Dean wants to ask him _‘what the fuck is your problem’_ , but he feels like that would be a waste of his time.  

He rids his mind of all thoughts of Roman or Seth as he waits backstage, focusing on one thing and one thing only: the championship.

He swears to himself that when he walks back through the curtain after the match, he’ll walk through it with that shiny belt wrapped around his waist, nothing less.

* * *

Dean loses the match.

His only redemption is that he didn’t get pinned, wasn’t the one to tap out – but it still infuriates him.

He’s seething as he pulls himself to his feet from his seated position on the mats outside the ring, seething as he exits the room through the curtain, seething as he walks down the hallway.

All of that anger has to go somewhere, and Dean punches the wall. That one punch does nothing for the wall or himself; the wall’s a lot sturdier than he expected, but he doesn’t care.

He punches it again, and again, and again, until his knuckles split and pain is lancing up his arm, until his head’s a little clearer. His hand is a bloody mess, and it aches like a bitch, and the pain in his shoulder from being driven into the steel steps several times during the match is starting up again.

He punches the wall once more, for good measure, and leaves a bloody imprint of his knuckles on its surface.

Then he heads for the locker room.

* * *

Seth is by his locker, talking to someone Dean doesn’t really recognize, when Dean approaches. As if sensing his anger, or as if afraid of him, whoever it is that Seth’s talking to makes a point to leave as soon as Dean approaches.

Seth turns to him, and Dean sees a flicker of surprise when his eyes sweep across Dean’s knuckles, but it’s quickly masked by that false malice he recalls from the week before.

“What’s the matter, Dean?” Seth asks, a smirk on his face. “You lose the match? Can’t say I’m surprised, really. I knew you never had it in you. You could never be champion. That title will be mine before it’ll ever be yours – in fact, it’ll be the whole entire roster’s before it’ll ever be yours. You know I’m right, you just don’t want to—“

Seth is silenced when Dean shoves his lips hard against his. Dean doesn’t know if he’s doing it to shut Seth up, or if he’s doing it because Seth fuckin’ started this last week and Dean’s not going to let him upstage him, or if he’s doing it because he just really wants to kiss Seth, but he does it.

The kiss is rough and angry, Dean pouring every ounce of his anger and frustration into it. Their teeth clash, and the angle’s wrong, and Dean bites Seth’s lip (accidentally on purpose) hard enough to make it bleed, but when he pulls away, he’s satisfied.

Seth is wide-eyed and out of breath, staring at him like Dean had just presented him with the championship title and said _“here, it’s yours.”_

Dean raises his hand, brushes the back of it across Seth’s cheek, leaving a trail of blood across his skin, and smiles bitterly.

Then he walks away.

* * *

“Jesus, Dean! What the hell happened?”

That’s what Roman says when Dean comes to him, offering his bloody hand like a sacrifice. Dean doesn’t really know what to make of Roman’s concern for him, but he likes it, and so he takes advantage of it whenever possible.

“I got in a fight with the wall… an’ I won,” Dean says matter-of-factly, as if Roman’s an idiot for asking. Roman sighs, grabbing Dean’s wrist gently.

“Let me see it,” he says, and Dean allows him to study his knuckles. The blood is starting to dry, but they’re swollen and still tender. “You better get this wrapped up,” Roman informs him.

Dean offers him a sly grin. “I was hopin’ you could help me with that, Rome. You take such good care of me,” he says, batting his eyelashes playfully. He likes to mess with Roman, likes to see if he can crack that stoic exterior.

“Fine,” Roman says, and that’s how Dean ends up seated on one of the locker room benches (the likes of which are becoming much too familiar for his liking; the thin, battered pieces of wood are starting to contain some unpleasant memories), his hand held by Roman’s as Roman bandages up his knuckles. Even though Dean’s not quite furious anymore, he’s still a ball of energy, and he can barely sit still. He taps the fingers of his free hand on his thigh, bounces his leg, kicks his feet back and forth.

It almost causes Roman to drop Dean’s hand, so he gives him a _look_ and says “Could you _try_ to sit still?”

Dean grins. “Sorry,” he says, but he’s not sorry at all. Roman can tell, just from the tone of Dean’s voice, but he doesn’t say anything, choosing to finish bandaging Dean’s hand instead.

They sit in silence like that for a few more minutes, Roman finishing his work and making sure the bandages aren’t too tight, before he lets go of Dean’s hand.

“Done,” he says. Dean clenches his hand and unclenches it, flexing his fingers experimentally. The bandages aren’t too tight, although his knuckles still throb with pain. He figures they’ll be good as new soon.

He gives Roman another grin. “Thanks, Rome. You’re the best,” he says, and leans in to press a kiss to Roman’s cheek. When he pulls back, Roman looks unaffected, his stoic exterior still intact. Dean’s a little disappointed.

So, just to see if he can get a reaction out of Roman (or, maybe because he’s made all the bad choices today, and he wants to make another), he kisses him.

Roman’s lips are soft, and Dean really likes how they feel against his own, but he decides it’s a lot more fun to kiss Seth, because at least Seth reacts. Roman isn’t even doing anything.

That is, until something favorable apparently clicks in Roman’s head, and Roman is kissing him back, their lips moving in a gentle synchronization. Unlike his kiss with Seth, the angle’s right, and they don’t clash, they just fit. Like two pieces of a puzzle, as the cliché goes.

Dean doesn’t want to pull away, but he’s forced to eventually, needing air. He smirks as he studies Roman’s face, seeing the light flush in his cheeks, the flicker of something that Dean is almost sure is desire in Roman’s eyes.

He stands, very aware that there can be too much of a good thing, and he’s pretty sure he’s fucked with enough heads in the past half hour to last him for a lifetime, and if he doesn’t stop now he’s going to go much too far with this.

“See ya, Rome,” he says, blowing him a kiss before disappearing from Roman’s line of sight.

He’s almost one hundred percent certain that he is now very, very much in deep shit.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He pretends that the reason he shows up isn’t to support Roman in his match.  
> It totally isn’t.

Dean doesn’t talk to Seth or Roman for three weeks.

He has a match the week after he does the stupid thing (and by stupid thing, he means kissing both Seth and Roman in the span of fifteen minutes). It’s a triple threat match to determine who will face the new Florida Heavyweight Champion for the title.

He loses that match, too (though thankfully, he isn’t pinned and he doesn’t submit), and the anger and frustration of the loss compels him to drive his fist into the hallway wall again. There’s no evidence of his previous attack on the wall, which only makes him hit it harder, and by the time he’s done, the white bandages that he had just changed before the match are soaked red. The pain from reopening the closed wounds feels like white-hot fire lacing up and down his arm, and he grits his teeth and cradles his arm to his chest as he stumbles into the locker room to fix himself up.

(He kind of wants Roman to rebandage his wounds, but he’s too stubbornly proud to ask for help, now that he’s gone and created a mess.)

His uninjured hand shakes as he peels off the blood-soaked bandages, and he winces as he looks at the damage he’s caused.

It takes half an hour for him to fix himself up. He pours rubbing alcohol over his abused knuckles and proceeds to shout every curse word known in the entire universe and slam his uninjured fist into the bench, because _goddamn_ does that shit hurt. Once the pain is manageable, he dabs at the blood with a towel until his wounds are (fairly) clean, and then wraps fresh bandages around his knuckles.

The wrap is a little too tight, enough to be vaguely uncomfortable, but it’ll have to do.

* * *

The week after that, Dean’s not scheduled for a match or for a promo, so he’s not even required to show up, but he shows up anyway.

He pretends that the reason he shows up isn’t to support Roman in his match.

It totally isn’t.

He lurks in the crowd so Roman won’t see him, dressed in his street clothes. He hides behind random people when necessary, when he thinks Roman is looking right at him, even if he’s just looking at the section Dean’s in.

Roman wins the match, and Dean’s tempted to go back to the locker room and congratulate him, but that plan is halted in its tracks when he creeps into the locker room and peeks behind a row of lockers, only to find Seth and Roman discussing something intently. Seth looks aggravated, and Roman looks perplexed.

 _Not good not good not good_ , his mind chants.

He catches a snippet of their conversation – catches Seth saying “I don’t know where the fuck he is, but I need to talk to him,” and Roman agreeing – and he immediately hightails it out of there.

After all, it’s not like he’s actually dating either one of them, but even so, he knows they would not be pleased to find out he kissed both of them in the span of fifteen minutes.

That is, if they haven’t already discussed it.

_Fuck fuck fuck._

* * *

A week later, when the end of October is nearing, Seth has a match. It’s to defend the FCW 15 Championship – apparently Seth managed to get his stupid medal back from Sandow after Dean caused him to lose it – against Sandow, who obviously wants it back. It’s a fifteen minute Iron Man match, just like Dean and Seth’s first match.

Dean decides he’s got nothing better to do than watch it, and so for the first five minutes, he watches from the crowd. But soon, he grows tired of blending in – it’s been much too long since he last messed with Seth, and he decides it’s time to do so again.

So a few minutes later, he disappears from the crowd and reappears through the entryway, catching the attention of the announcers. He’s cradling a small bag of popcorn and a cup of water in the crook of his arm – can’t have entertainment without snacks – as he makes himself comfortable in a spare chair.

Seth notices his presence almost immediately, yelling at him with obvious displeasure. “What the fuck are you doing here?! Get out!”

Dean shakes his head dismissively. “Nah, you keep doin’ what you’re doin’, Sethie. You’re doin’ great,” he says, offering him a derisive thumbs-up. “I’m just gonna watch, I promise.”

Seth narrows his eyes, obviously still distrustful after what happened in the middle of Seth’s last match with Sandow. He opens his mouth to say something, but Sandow attempts to pin him, immediately forcing him to change his focus onto the more concerning issue at hand.

When Seth gets a chance, he rolls out of the ring and faces Dean, still irritated by his presence. “Leave,” Seth demands, pointing toward the entryway. Dean refuses, but now even the referee’s trying to get him to leave, saying he’s a distraction to the wrestlers. It’s not fair; all he wants to do is watch.

Really.

The referee starts to threaten him, and that’s when Dean gives in, needing to not have security all over him so he can execute his plan properly.

“Alright, fine, I’ll go,” Dean snaps. Seth waves at him mockingly as he leaves, and it takes everything in him not to change his mind and punch Seth in his pretty face.

* * *

Ten minutes later, when there are only ten seconds left on the clock, and it looks like Seth will win by means of a draw, Dean rushes back out, practically flings himself into the ring, and throws himself at Damien Sandow.

He nearly knocks the guy out cold, but he doesn’t care. He gets up, pantomimes shooting a gun at Seth, who’s staring in either horror or awe (Dean can’t tell which), and promptly rolls out of the ring, running back to the entryway before Seth or the referee can go after him.

He ends up getting Seth disqualified again, meaning Sandow gets the medal back, and that pleases Dean to no end.

He wasn’t planning on getting Seth disqualified again; he just wanted to watch the match, but Seth would have no part of that, so Dean figures his act is punishment for not letting him watch the match.

The weirdest thing is, he just _knows_ Seth is gonna kill him for it, and a small part of him is excited about that.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, ‘m Dean Ambrose… which means I can do whatever I want. ‘N anyway, Sethie, the saying goes… ‘fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me’… fooled ya twice, didn’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More NSFW content in this chapter, including more slight exhibitionism, more dirty talk, dom/sub undertones, very slight painplay, slight praise kink, and mentions of crossdressing kink. If you're uncomfortable with any of these things, please skip this chapter.

None of the fans know what goes on behind closed doors, and for once, Dean is thankful for that.

Instead of starting up another feud with Seth, which would be the obvious choice, Dean attacks William Regal just before the end of that night’s taping, partially because he can, partially because he feels like it, and partially because Dean’s never been good at hiding his emotions and he knows that if he interacts with Seth too much on camera, something’s going to bust out from under the surface.

He’s not sure what, but something. Something that would belie his previous on-camera appearances with Seth.

It really bothers him, but if he’s being honest, he can’t do shit about it.

* * *

 After the end of the taping, Dean heads to the locker room. His head feels a little clearer, and he can actually think straight now. He feels ready to face his demons, so to speak (although the cliché seems fairly appropriate; Seth and Roman are his demons, troubling him in the best way).

He’s about to open his locker when he’s slammed up against it instead, his cheek pressing into its cold metal surface. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who’s done that to him, who’s standing behind him right now, so he chuckles and breathes out “Hey, Sethie.”

In a wordless response, he feels Seth’s hand move up to his head, his fingers tangling in the strands of his hair, and Seth pulls.

Dean actually whimpers a little bit (he’s always had a bit of a kink for hair-pulling), but he pretends he didn’t.

“Who the fuck do you think you are,” Seth growls, his voice low and drenched in venom. “running around, doing shit like that?”

“Sorry, Seth… but ‘m afraid I dunno what shit you’re talkin’ ‘bout this time.”

Seth’s fingers tug at his hair again, and Dean has to bite down on his lip to keep any humiliating whimpers from spilling out.

“Making me lose the FCW 15 Championship. Again.”

Dean grins, trying to crane his neck a little bit to look at Seth, but Seth only tightens his grip in his hair, preventing him from moving his head.

“Well, ‘m Dean Ambrose… which means I can do whatever I want. ‘N anyway, Sethie, the saying goes… ‘fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me’… fooled ya twice, didn’t I?”

“You’re insufferable, intolerable, unbearable,” Seth responds, punctuating each word with a tug to his hair, and Dean’s going to pretend he’s not half-hard in his jeans. “and a fucking cocky asshole. Why the hell do I even spend any time around you? You’re not even worth my time. You’re worth nothing.”

Dean smirks, tries his best to hide it, and fails miserably. “’Cause you love it, Sethie… it gets you off.”

Seth makes a noise that sounds vaguely like agreement (and that’s a win in Dean’s book), pressing his hips against Dean’s backside, and Dean is sure that Seth’s at least half-hard, too.

Well, at least he’s not the only one.

Dean laughs breathlessly, turning his face slightly, although the metal surface of the locker still presses into the side of his cheek. “’S that a hammer, Sethie, or are ya just happy to see me?”

“Shut up,” Seth hisses, although he doesn’t sound too threatening.

“’S okay, princess, I know how hard you’re tryin’ to be dominant, but it ain’t workin’. Get off o’ me ‘n I’ll give ya what ya want, cause we both know ya wanna be choked on my dick.”

“Shut up,” Seth repeats, but the way his voice nearly cracks on the last note gives him away.

“’S just the natural order of things. You ain’t dominant. Now get on your fuckin’ knees,” Dean says, allowing a hard edge to come to his voice. He feels the weight on him shift, Seth’s fingers disappearing from his hair, and when he decides to turn around, he actually finds Seth on his knees.

A small part of him is surprised; even though he had seen Seth’s submissive side in their last sexual encounter, he hadn’t really expected Seth to just swallow his pride so easily and give in.

“You fuckin’ whore,” Dean says, staring at him, but the declaration isn’t really derisive; it’s more wondrous at how easily Seth gave in. Seth meets his gaze with a defiant look in his eyes, but Dean knows all of that defiance will just melt away once he gets his hands on him.

“We’re not doin’ this here, even though I bet you’d fuckin’ love that.”

“Then where are we—“

“The showers. C’mon, Sethie, try to keep up.” He tangles his fingers in Seth’s hair and hauls him to his feet, eliciting a pained cry from the other man. He lets go of Seth’s hair and clasps his hand loosely, essentially dragging him toward the showers. Dean tugs him around a corner, hiding them from immediate view.

Once Dean decides they’re far enough out of sight that the only way someone would find them would be to come looking for them, he lets go of Seth’s hand and turns to face him.

He points at the floor expectantly, but Seth stares at him blankly. Dean rolls his eyes. Seth may be real pretty, but sometimes, it seems like his head is empty. “On your knees, princess,” he says, pointing at the floor again.

“But—“

“Don’t make me say it again.”

It takes a few more seconds and a staredown with Seth for Seth to finally drop to his knees on the tile floor, his eyes never leaving Dean’s.

“Good. Now,” he says, letting his hand rest loosely on his belt buckle, “tell me you wanna suck my dick.”

Seth gapes at him. “I’m not—“

“Not what? Not gonna say it? Cause if ya don’t wanna say it, well… you got hands, you can get yourself off. But I ain’t gonna do shit for ya ‘til you say it. And if you _do_ say it, ya better fuckin’ mean it. I don’t accept half-assed attempts.”

That silences Seth, and Dean watches him for a minute or two, practically seeing the gears turning in his head as Seth tries to decide whether or not to swallow his pride again.

“Well?”

Seth mumbles something in response that Dean can’t quite understand.

“Can’t hear ya.”

“I wanna suck your dick,” Seth repeats, just a little louder. It’s not good enough for Dean; he doesn’t sound like he means it.

“Say it like you mean it. Like you’re gonna die if you don’t get my dick in your mouth.”

That seems to shake something loose in Seth, and his demeanor quickly turns. “I’m not saying tha—“

Dean tangles his fingers in Seth’s hair and slaps him with the other hand. He enjoys the red flush it brings to Seth’s cheeks, the way Seth’s cock jerks in his trunks, pressing insistently against the fabric.

So little Sethie apparently has a pain kink.

Dean’s not surprised.

Seth sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes meeting Dean’s.

“Well? Are ya gonna say it now?” Dean prompts.

Seth swallows. “I wanna suck your dick,” he finally says. Much to Dean’s surprise, his voice sounds raspy, needy. “Please, Dean,” he adds, and _holy shit_ , is Seth Rollins actually begging him to put his dick in his mouth?

Apparently so. Dean’s half-tempted to record the declaration for posterity.

He unbuckles his belt, unbuttons his jeans, shoves them down and kicks them off. He toys with the waistband of his boxer briefs, not yet wanting to show Seth what he has to offer.

“Tell me how bad you want it,” he says. He sees something flicker in Seth’s eyes, like a spark snuffing out that previous defiance.

”I want it so bad, please, Dean,” Seth says earnestly, still staring up at him. It’s like a haze has come over him, like Dean is completely controlling him now. “I want to taste you, wanna have your dick in my mouth, please…” Dean’s gonna have to shut him up somehow or he’s gonna embarrass himself by coming in his underwear like an overexcited teenager.

“Alright,” Dean says amiably. He tugs his boxer briefs down, kicks them off too, just for good measure. He wraps his right hand around the base of his cock and cups Seth’s face with his left, stroking his cheek with an unusual gentleness. “Open,” he instructs, and Seth opens his mouth obediently. He wonders if this is even the same person who tried to spit venom at him earlier; Seth’s entirely different like this, and Dean hasn’t even really touched him yet.

He grips Seth’s face a little tighter and guides his cock into his mouth. He’s longer than he is thick, but it’s still a stretch for Seth. Dean feels him start to choke before he’s even halfway in, and he realizes it’s because the dumbass is holding his breath.

“Breathe, you fuckin’ idiot,” Dean huffs, and finally, he feels Seth relax. He continues to push in, stopping once the tip of his cock is bumping the back of Seth’s throat and Seth’s nose is brushing against his pubic bone.

Dean honestly thinks Seth was made for this, because he’s even prettier like this. His eyes are watering, and his lips are spit-slick and drawn taut around the intrusion in his mouth, and his throat is fluttering around Dean’s cock, trying to adjust, and Dean isn’t sure he’ll be able to prevent himself from coming too soon.

He can’t help but moan when Seth finally grows used to it and starts trying to suck in earnest, alternating sucks with tiny licks along the side of his shaft. Dean pulls out a little, just a few inches, and Seth stills.

Dean frowns at him. “I didn’t tell ya to stop,” he says. Seth gets the message and continues his administrations, causing Dean to have to brace himself with one palm on the wall, a gritted mumble of _“Fuck”_ slipping past his lips.

“You’re really fuckin’ good at this, aren’t you?” Dean asks, not expecting an answer. He might actually slap Seth again if he pulls away. But the motherfucker would probably like that. “Like you were jus’ made to suck dick. _My_ dick. Think I might keep ya as my personal dickwarmer.”

Seth moans in response, his hips canting forward of their own accord. Dean hisses at the resulting vibrations, but once they disappear, he laughs.

“You are, undoubtedly, the biggest whore I’ve ever met. And I’ve met a _lot_ of them. But it’s good, princess. It’s real fuckin’ good.”

Dean notes how Seth’s hips shift again after he says that, like he’s trying to grind against the fabric of his trunks. Something clicks inside his head.

“What, ya got a praise kink or somethin’? Ya like bein’ told you’re good?”

Seth’s eyes meet his, and he attempts something that looks like a nod. Dean clicks his tongue in disbelief.

“First, I find out you got a pain kink. Now I find out you got a praise kink. Next you’re gonna tell me you get off on wearin’ dresses and panties or some shit like that.”

He’s almost stunned into silence when Seth attempts a shrug that Dean interprets as a yes.

“Where d’ya pick this shit up, Sethie? You fuckin’ whore,” he says, but his tone is laced with admiration.

Because, out of everyone Dean’s ever done anything with – made out with, fucked, ate out, the list of activities is numerous and basically endless – no one’s ever gone as far off the mark as Seth is going. But he’s off the mark in a real good way, and Dean intends to take full advantage.

“Alright, time for ya to stop,” he says, tangling his fingers in Seth’s hair and forcibly pulling him off his cock. Seth actually whines, and Dean smirks. “Get up.”

Seth struggles to his feet on shaky legs, looking kind of dazed. Dean’s real proud of himself that he did that to him.

He eyes the prominent bulge in Seth’s trunks, his dick tenting the fabric.

“Can’t believe it’s so easy to get ya to shut up,” Dean mutters to himself. He turns Seth around and forces him up against the wall, his cheek pressed against the tile. He yanks Seth’s trunks down, enough to expose his dick and his ass. He admires Seth’s ass for a moment; the guy’s certainly been doing enough squats when he works out.

“Ya got lube? Or a condom?”

“No,” Seth mumbles.

“’S too bad. I’ll just have to fuck you later,” Dean says, and if he’s being entirely honest, that’s a promise he fully intends to keep. He spits into his hand and rubs the spit onto his dick as a sort of makeshift lube. He spreads Seth’s cheeks apart, but instead of going for his hole, Dean nestles his cock in the curve of Seth’s ass, rubbing directly over his hole. Seth whimpers, and Dean smirks, his hands tapping a light rhythm on Seth’s hips and ass.

“Since you were so rude to me earlier… I ain’t gonna help you out. You gotta touch yourself if ya wanna get off, cause I’m good here.”

“But—“

“No protestin’, Sethie. If you’re rude, you get punished. Ain’t no exceptions.”

He listens to the soft sigh that becomes a long moan when Seth wraps his hand around his cock and begins to stroke himself. He holds onto Seth’s hips as he pulls back and then pushes forward; long, slow strokes like he’s actually fucking Seth. He rocks his hips back and forth, starting a slow pattern, the force of it enough to knock Seth against the wall a little bit.

He continues like this for a while, enjoying the friction of Seth’s ass cheeks around his dick, and enjoying the soft sounds Seth involuntarily makes as he strokes himself.  Then he tires of dragging it out, and starts to move faster, going for sharp, short strokes that regularly knock Seth against the wall. He can tell Seth changes the pace of his own strokes to match his, and the increase in speed is enough to turn Seth’s moans into whimpers and whines that are, for some reason, the hottest fucking thing ever.

When he feels he’s close, he pulls away, slaps his hand over his dick and orders Seth to come for him. It doesn’t take long for Seth to oblige, moaning out something that sounds vaguely like Dean’s name as he shudders through his orgasm. That’s enough to bring Dean over the edge, and he jerks himself a few times before he comes all over the small of Seth’s back with a groan. The sight of Seth marked up like that, in the most primal way, delights him to no end.

He gets himself dressed without much ceremony; after all, it’s just some no-strings-attached fun (or so he thinks), so there’s no need to pretend to act all affectionate and offer to help clean Seth up.

“Get yourself cleaned up. Don’t think it’s a good idea for ya to walk out with my cum all over ya,” is all Dean says before he leaves.

He hears the water start running as he walks away, and he’s surprised Seth actually listened to him. Then again, if Seth didn’t start cleaning himself up then, the cum would dry and be a bitch to get off later.

Dean knows that from personal experience.

He rounds the corner and hears the water shut off. He looks back briefly, and since he’s not looking where he’s going, he runs smack-dab into something. Namely, someone.

“Shit, sorry, man—“ Dean starts to say, not wanting to get into shit with anyone at the moment, until he finally looks at whoever he ran into and the sentence dies in his throat.

Roman.

And from the looks of him, the guy ain’t happy. Dean just hopes he doesn’t look like he just had sex.

“We need to talk,” is all Roman says. Dean squints at him, tilting his head.

“About what?”

“Something important.”

“You ain’t gotta be so cryptic, Rome.”

“I’m not being cryp—“ Roman begins, but stops as he apparently sees something behind Dean, what with the way he’s staring over Dean’s shoulder. Dean frowns, irked for some unknown reason.

“What?” Dean asks, turning to see whatever Roman’s looking at.

It’s Seth.

Soaking wet and looking for all the world like he’d just been thoroughly fucked.

Dean does not have a good alibi right now.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After all, Roman kissed him back.  
> That was something, right?

Roman looks back from Seth to him and raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

Because apparently Roman knows just as well as Dean does that there is only one explanation for the both of them coming out of the showers at the same time.

But what can he tell Roman? _‘Sorry man, I disappeared because I was fucking the guy I hate, you can’t blame me cause have you seen his ass?’_

He doesn’t think that would go over very well.

Instead, he tosses a miffed look at Seth. “The fuck are you doin’ here? Get outta here, this is a private conversation.”

Seth scowls at him, but leaves without a word. As he passes, Dean realizes he can still see faint traces of cum on Seth’s back.

He also realizes that Seth is even more of a dumbass than he originally thought.

Once Seth leaves, Dean turns his attention back to Roman, who still looks decidedly unimpressed. He thinks it’s the first time he’s ever been able to read an emotion on Roman’s face.

Roman’s the one to break the awkward silence that follows Seth’s absence. “So, what was that?” he asks.

“I dunno. He always follows me around like a lovesick puppy. It’s disgusting.”

“Right,” Roman says, sounding unconvinced. Dean makes a mental note to find Seth after this conversation is over and kill him.

“So, what’s this important thing you wanna talk about?”

Roman looks back over his own shoulder, as if he’s paranoid someone might be listening in. Finally, he speaks.

“What happened a couple weeks ago.”

That draws a blank. “A lot of shit happens to me every day, Rome. You gotta be specific.”

Roman looks around again, drops his voice low. Dean finds it kinda amusing how paranoid he’s being. “You kissed me.”

Oh. That thing.

“Hell yeah I did. What about it?”

Roman visibly falters at Dean’s reaction, and Dean wonders what’s got Roman so worked up over what happened.

“I’m… I’m not… like that,” is the brilliant explanation Roman comes up with. Dean really hopes that Roman isn’t just a pretty face like Seth is.

But he figures he might as well be the only one with a brain in this company.

“’Not like that’? The hell does that mean?” A few seconds of silence pass before the meaning finally clicks and Dean understands. “You mean you ain’t gay? Jeez, Rome, never said ya were. Way to jump to conclusions. Cause I ain’t either, lemme tell ya.”

“You’re not?” Roman asks, and Dean swears he almost hears surprise in his tone. The guy’s showing a lot more emotion than he usually does. Dean thinks it’s a little weird.

“I’m bi,” he declares, folding his arms across his chest. “I like pussy just as much as your average straight dude… but ya can’t go wrong with some dick from time to time.” He grins at the disgust that flickers across Roman’s face, probably from the fairly crude language. “Jus’ don’t go tellin’ everyone, okay? Apparently that shit ain’t acceptable around here, and I don’t wanna get my ass fired.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Roman says, but Dean doesn’t believe him. He narrows his eyes, studying Roman’s face for any signs of sincerity – but of course, he’s become inscrutable once again.

“If I find out you’re lyin’… I’ll kill ya, you understand?” he threatens. Roman nods his understanding, but he continues to speak. “You may be real nice-lookin’ or whatever, but if you go around tellin’ my secrets, you ain’t gonna mean shit to me. Cause I’ll make ya wish you never crossed paths with me in the first place. I’m not—“

“Dean,” Roman says, cutting him off. Dean stops, blinks.

“What?”

“I understand. You’ll kill me if I tell anyone. But I won’t tell anyone, alright? I know what it’s like to be the odd one out. I know what it’s like to have everyone not wanting to be within a five mile radius of you. I know it’s hard enough for you already, and it must be harder being – well, you know. So you don’t have to worry about me telling anyone.”

_Bullshit_ is what Dean immediately thinks, especially when Roman says he knows what it’s like “to be the odd one out.” Roman is 250 pounds of tall, dark, and handsome, and Dean’s the fuckin’ Pope if he was ever an outsider. Dean strongly suspects Roman was the stereotypical jock when he was in high school: quarterback on the football team, girls all over him, good grades with a full ride football scholarship to any college he could possibly desire, and everyone loved him.

Roman’s even popular now; he’s pretty good in the ring, and the girls are all over him, sometimes literally, touching his skin and the tattoo on his shoulder, drowning him in fawning adoration.

It’s disgusting. Dean’s seen it more than once, and it bothers him every time he happens to stumble upon it.

He wonders if it bothers Roman, too.

“Whatever you say. Well, I’d love to keep havin’ this little chat, but I gotta go. I got things to see, people to do. I’ll see ya later, Rome.” Dean salutes him and brushes past before Roman can even react.

As he walks to his locker, he finds himself less convinced that Roman is 100% straight with every step he takes.

After all, Roman kissed him back.

That was something, right?


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he leaves the locker room, he wonders why there’s such an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach, like he did something wrong.  
> He doesn’t think he did anything wrong.  
> He’s not even really sure if he knows what’s wrong and what’s right anymore.

A week later, he has a match with William Regal that’s the result of his attack the week before. To avoid getting distracted, he avoids Roman and Seth prior to the match.

Things have become awkward with Roman, anyway; Dean knows he’s toeing the line in the sand, but he doesn’t know where it is or when to cross it. As a result, he’s been avoiding Roman, pretending to look busy whenever he passes by (although he steals glances at him; he can’t _not_ look when Roman has a body like that).

Seth, meanwhile, Dean has been avoiding because he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to keep from knocking him unconscious. Just for being a dumbass and basically blowing Dean’s cover.

Avoiding them seems to be working for his focus, as his head feels clear as he waits backstage prior to his match, waiting to be announced. He’s not worrying about where to go from here with Seth or what to do about Roman. He’s just trying to decide the best way to humiliate and irritate Regal.

* * *

His match against Regal doesn’t go well. He has the upper hand for approximately 0.2 seconds, and then everything goes to shit, although he never just gives up.

But Regal gets his arm bent awkwardly and stuck first in between a turnbuckle and its padding, then in between the steel steps that lead up to the ring and the apron of the ring. It makes his arm hurt like a motherfucker, and he thinks cutting it off would make it hurt less.

When Regal successfully pins him, his head is swimming from exhaustion and pain, but he continues to taunt Regal even as he exits the ring and heads backstage.

Even though his arm hurts like hell, he’s pleased to be able to get into Regal’s head, just like he did with Seth.

He makes his way to the locker room, clutching his arm to his chest in hopes of preventing further injury, and heads to his locker, only to stop in his tracks at the sight he’s faced with.

Seth is leaning up against his locker, like he’s waiting for him, which honestly kinda irritates Dean. He doesn’t feel like dealing with Seth right now, but his only other option is leaving in his wrestling gear, which he would do if it wasn’t unseasonably cold today.

So, grumbling under his breath, Dean makes the rest of the trip to his locker, stopping a few feet from Seth. “This ain’t high school, Seth. No one waits for someone at their locker after their match.”

Seth looks up, shoving his phone in his pocket. He doesn’t have a match scheduled for today, so he’s dressed in his street clothes, which consist of another stupid band shirt and skinny jeans that look like they’re painted on.

Typical.

“Who says I’m waiting for you?” Seth counters.

“You’re leanin’ on my fuckin’ locker, dumbass. Whatever you want’s got somethin’ to do with me.”

It seems like Seth’s going to challenge that notion, but after a minute or so he exhales heavily, giving up his poor cover. “Fine. You’re right. I was waiting for you because I wanna talk to you.”

“If you’re gonna beg me to fuck you, the answer is no. Not today.”

Seth flushes a bright red, and Dean smirks. “It doesn’t have anything to do with that!” Seth exclaims indignantly. Dean’s not convinced.

“Sure, whatever you say. Can I get into my locker now?”

Seth moves out of the way, and Dean opens his locker, starting to take off his knee pads and shoving them haphazardly into the locker. A minute or two passes before Seth speaks again, and Dean’s not even looking at him when he does.

“I have a girlfriend.”

Dean pauses. “What?”

“I have a girlfriend,” Seth repeats.

“If you have a girlfriend, how come I ain’t seen her?”

“Because she lives in Iowa.”

Dean snorts. “Alright, well, good for you, you got a girlfriend. Why are you telling me this?”

Seth’s silent again, and Dean turns to look at him. He’s surprised to find Seth staring down at the floor, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

It’s unsettling to see him looking so bashful. That’s not the Seth he knows. The Seth he knows is loud, arrogant, desperate to be the best, willing to crush anyone who stands in his way.

But that’s not this Seth.

“Because, I uh, don’t think she’d be happy if she knew, um, what we’ve been doing.”

Dean almost wants to laugh, and he would if this didn’t feel so odd to him. It strikes the wrong chord in him, and he can’t figure out why that is.

“Are you sayin’ you’re gonna tell her about that one little encounter? Seth, c’mon. Get a fuckin’ brain. You don’t tell your girlfriend ya fucked around with some guy, cause it ain’t her business.”

“But it is,” Seth protests. “It is her business. I’m supposed to be committed to her.”

“You’re a fuckin’ pussy, Seth. Committed relationships are jack shit in the end. If you’re really stupid enough to think she cares about what ya do with your dick, then you really _are_ just a pretty face. But whatever. Cause you know what? That shit we did? It doesn’t mean anything. _You_ don’t mean anything to me. You were just somethin’ for me to stick my dick in.”

Seth opens and closes his mouth a few times, like he’s trying to say something, but apparently he’s been stunned into silence.

“Fine,” is what comes out when Seth finally remembers how to use the English language again.

“I’m glad ya understand. Now go fuckin’ bother someone else,” Dean mutters, his tone bitter. Seth obliges him, disappearing from his sight like Dean’s the last person he wants to be around right now.

Which is probably true.

Dean finishes changing into his street clothes and decides to take his bag home with him, hauling it out of the locker (he finally started putting his bag in his locker again after he decided Seth had learned his lesson and wouldn’t steal from him anymore) and hanging it over his uninjured shoulder. He shuts the locker, and the slam of the door as it closes reverberates with a loud _bang_ , nearly startling him.

Did he really shut it that hard? Oops.

As he leaves the locker room, he wonders why there’s such an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach, like he did something wrong.

He doesn’t think he did anything wrong.

He’s not even really sure if he knows what’s wrong and what’s right anymore.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight bloodplay in this chapter. If you're uncomfortable with that, please stop reading this chapter after the section in which Dean's match concludes.

He doesn’t talk to Seth again until two weeks later.

Even days after his match and his confrontation with Seth, his arm was still giving him hell, so he reluctantly went to the trainer, who told him it was just really badly bruised and advised him to take it easy for the next couple of weeks.

So Dean didn’t have a match the week after his match with William Regal, but Seth did; he was trying valiantly to get the FCW 15 Championship back from Damien Sandow. Dean didn’t feel like interfering again – couldn’t risk injuring his arm any further, anyway, since he knew he was booked for a match the week after – but he wanted to see the match. So he took a seat in the crowd, dressed in his street clothes, the hood of his jacket pulled up over his head to help disguise him from any potential fans of his.

It was a good match, Dean would admit. Seth isn’t half bad in the ring, but even with ferocity and desperation coming into play, the match comes to a draw, so Sandow keeps the medal.

Dean thought it was a nice try, for what it was worth.

But he didn’t talk to Seth, didn’t linger around after the match in an imitation of the other man. In fact, he left right after the referee handed that shiny, stupid medal back to Sandow.

There was no reason for him to stay any longer.

* * *

He only talks to Seth again because he has a match against him, and there’s no way in hell he’s gonna turn down an opportunity to get into Seth’s head.

Unfortunately, it’s not just him and Seth. The matches involving solely himself and Seth are his favorite; the _‘ring chemistry’_ , as everyone calls it, is electric, making every match that much sweeter. As much as he hates to admit it, Seth can meet him move for move.

But, with the general manager still adhering to the fans’ mantra of “the more wrestlers in the ring at one time, the better,” Seth’s being flanked by Johnny Curtis and Derrick Bateman, and he’s being flanked by Antonio Cesaro and Damien Sandow, in a six-man tag team match.

Dean would be happier if it was just him and Seth, but he has to deal.

Roman has a match before his, against Corey Graves, and Dean _really_ wants to watch it because _damn_ does Roman look good in those trunks, but he has to get ready for his match. He needs to spend as much time as possible before the match ridding himself of any distracting thoughts about Seth, thoughts that have no place in the ring.

In the midst of getting ready, taping up his arm, bouncing around on the balls of his feet and testing his jabs, he hears that Roman won his match. He contemplates going to congratulate him, but then hears that Roman went to see the trainer, worried about his eye after having it raked.

Damn.

* * *

When it’s time for his match, his ragtag group is announced first. Dean ignores the camera this time as he makes his way out, getting in the ring without ceremony and proceeding to engage in his usual pacing around the ring (unlike the two morons he’s been placed with, who insist on taking their dear, sweet time coming up to the ring and getting into it, showing off for the camera; Dean pauses in his pacing to scoff at them before finally choosing to ignore their idiotic antics).

When Seth’s group enters, they too take their sweet time, but Seth’s eyes never leave his. When they finally get their asses in the ring, Seth tries to come at him like a shot, but Dean rolls out of the ring to avoid him. The match hasn’t even officially started yet; he doesn’t have to deal with Seth immediately.

He takes off his jacket and dumps it on the floor, then rolls back into the ring and heads for his corner. Of course, Cesaro and Sandow choose Cesaro to start off with; it’s like they don’t trust him, not even asking what he thinks.

He’s not surprised, really. In fact, he’d be surprised if there was anyone on the roster who _did_ trust him.

But it’s fine; it allows him to zone out temporarily. He only comes to when he realizes that Seth has been tagged in and Cesaro is offering his hand to Dean. A slow smirk spreads across his face; they know about his little feud with Seth.

Oh, this is gonna be good.

He slaps Cesaro’s hand and ducks under the top rope to get into the ring. Seth’s already ready for him, crouching slightly, like he expects Dean to just lunge at him. Which is tempting, but Dean’s smarter than that.

Dean scowls at him as he paces, and they circle each other for a bit before colliding, both of them trying to put the other in a submission hold. Dean breaks away and goes for a superkick, but Seth catches his foot, and he’s left to hop on one leg while wildly swinging at Seth, missing every time. Seth finally tires of watching him hop on one leg pathetically and kicks that leg out from under him.

When Dean gets to his feet, Seth evidently notices the tape wrapped around Dean’s arm, and starts doing to him what Dean had done to Seth previously; twisting his injured arm behind his back and putting painful pressure on it, though Dean bites down hard on his lip to avoid screaming like Seth had.

It only gets worse when Seth tags in Bateman, who proceeds to do the same thing, and then Bateman tags in Curtis, who follows suit. Dean manages to drive Curtis into his corner and tags Sandow, desperately needing some relief for his aching arm. He clutches it to his chest as he steps back out onto the apron and swears that if he ends up tearing something in his arm, he’s going to murder Seth.

Much to his delight, Cesaro knocks Seth off the apron when he looks away for a second, and Dean heads over to that side of the apron and smirks at the prone figure on the mats outside the ring. He comes back over to his corner, bouncing on the balls of his feet to try to control some of the energy being in the ring with Seth has given him.

Cesaro eventually tags him back in, and Curtis tags in Bateman, but Dean treats him like he’s Seth, coming at him in full force. He relies mostly on clotheslines with his good arm, not sure he could do _Midnight Special_ with one of his shoulders messed up, and kicks. Eventually, he grows tired of knocking Bateman around, and locks him in the _Regal Stretch_ (making fun of Regal, just because he can), and Bateman taps out.

It’s not as satisfying as a victory directly against Seth, but he’ll take it.

He lets go of Bateman and perches himself atop one of the turnbuckles to rest, gently tapping his arm to make sure he didn’t fuck anything up any worse, because the worst thing that could possibly happen to him is being unable to wrestle.

It seems fine, aside from aching, so he moves his attention elsewhere. He dabs at his bottom lip with a finger, realizing his lip is bleeding. He must’ve bitten too hard, he thinks. He just drags his tongue over his bottom lip, trying to clean the blood off.

He then realizes it’s probably time to haul his ass out of the ring; Seth and his group are gone, along with Cesaro and Sandow, and there’s still another match to be had. So he leaves the ring and heads backstage, moving slowly because he feels like it.

He’s not even halfway down the hallway when a fast-moving weight shoves him into the wall, hitting it with his injured arm, and he hisses _‘Fuck’_ as the pain he felt in the ring flares up again.

He immediately assumes he’s being attacked, and he spins himself around to face whoever it is, tensing up and preparing for a fight, but then lips are on his and there’s a mop of dark hair in his face, obstructing his view of anything but the man who’s kissing him.

It’s not a passionate or loving kiss; hell, it’s an angry kiss, all teeth and tongue, but he likes it. Even as he hisses in pain when teeth sink into his bottom lip and aggravate the fresh wound, causing more blood to spill, he responds in kind and just as eagerly, grasping at the other man’s bottom lip with his teeth and tugging, eliciting a moan from the other man in the process. He feels the man’s tongue sliding across his bottom lip, tasting the blood that’s collected there, before the man kisses it into his mouth, and really, tasting his own blood shouldn’t be so hot, but Dean’s already half-hard in his trunks.

_Fucker’s probably got a thing for bloodplay_ , Dean thinks. He wouldn’t be surprised. Guy’s a kinky little shit.

He’s not ashamed of the fact that he’s half-hard, though, and so he pushes his hips up, seeking friction. Obliging him, the man kicks Dean’s feet apart slightly and then pushes his thigh between Dean’s legs. Dean groans into the man’s mouth as he tries desperately to grind against his thigh, even as his mind is screaming for him to stop before this goes too far.

Because, really, it’s hard for him to be reasonable when he’s thinking with his dick.

He grinds himself to full hardness against the man’s thigh after their lips separate, and he’s just about to reach down and help the guy out when he steps back, removing his thigh from in between Dean’s legs.

The man presses their foreheads together and grins. It’s both malicious and endearing, and Dean fucking hates him, with all of his heart.

“Now you know what it’s like,” the guy whispers. “To feel like you can have it all when someone gives you a little, only for it to be yanked out from under you when you try to take it all.”

Dean has no idea what the fuck that means, and he doesn’t get a chance to ask what the fuck that means, because as soon as his mind stops reeling and he manages to ignore his hardness, Seth is already gone.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s just a matter of time before that happens to Seth and Roman, before they realize he’s not really worth their time, before they realize that being around him will ruin them.

There’s no taping the week after that because of Thanksgiving (which is a bullshit holiday in Dean’s opinion, but he’ll take advantage of the time off anyway), so Dean doesn’t see Seth or Roman.

If he’s being honest, he spends most of his time off in his shabby little apartment, sleeping or drinking his way through a six-pack or two. He hits the gym a few times, but he’s seriously distracted during his workouts, his mind off somewhere else, and he knows he’s gonna end up injuring himself worse if he doesn’t focus.

But, for some reason, it’s incredibly difficult to focus.

He thinks about how Roman and Seth are probably home with their families; thinks about how Seth’s probably with that stupid girlfriend of his.

He thinks about how Roman and Seth probably have people who give a fuck about them, wonders what it’s like.

Wonders what it’s like to have someone notice you’re gone, wonders what it’s like to actually need to have a phone to stay in contact with someone (he himself only has his flip phone for ordering takeout when he’s too damn lazy, drunk, or hungover to drive).

For about 0.4 seconds, he thinks he wants that; wants someone to give a fuck about him, wants someone to _care_ about him; but after those 0.4 seconds have passed, he rids himself of those thoughts.

He doesn’t need anyone; he is Dean Ambrose and he’s doing just fine on his own.

He’s pretty sure there’s no chance in hell anyone’s ever gonna give a fuck about him anyway.

* * *

December 4 is a difficult day for Dean Ambrose.

He grew so restless and irritated the day before, tired of thinking and wondering and kind of _hoping_ for things that would never happen (the fact that he even hoped for those things made him sick), that he’d resorted to a smoke. He’d sworn to quit, because he’d smoked too damn much and it was affecting his performance in the ring, and he hadn’t smoked in months, but he found half a pack and a lighter and decided to take advantage, hoping it would settle him.

But it didn’t. If anything, it made him worse; made him think even harder, made him think about what the hell he was doing, and he couldn’t really answer that. All he knew was that he was tired of thinking.

So, in a last desperate attempt to just _stop thinking_ , he’d taken his medicine.

That worked, for the most part, but then his brain ended up doing a complete 180, and now he can’t bring himself to give a fuck about anything.

He only shows up to the December 4 taping because he has to, because they want him to cut a promo about Damien Sandow’s open challenge.

He does it, prattling on about how he’s better than Sandow, better than anyone else in the company, and how he’s “taking over.” He tries to act like he really gives a fuck about what he’s saying, but in reality, he doesn’t care all that much about the FCW 15 Championship. He’s only interested in it if winning it means he can rub it in Seth’s face. Literally.

After he heads back to the locker room, he looks around for Seth or Roman, hoping he might be able to mess with them. Preferably Roman, because Seth’s been acting weird as fuck ever since Dean told him he was only something to stick his dick in.

It’s true, but apparently it bothered Seth.

_Whatever_ , he huffs. Seth can get over it.

He pretends that the realization that neither Seth nor Roman are there doesn’t sour his mood further.

Because he doesn’t really give a fuck about them.

They’re just fun to mess with, fun to play with like puppets on a string.

It’s always been his job to fuck with people’s heads anyway. And sometimes, it seems like just being around him fucks with people’s heads, like everything that’s wrong with him comes seeping out of his pores and is absorbed by everyone else’s.

It’s just a matter of time before that happens to Seth and Roman, before they realize he’s not really worth their time, before they realize that being around him will ruin them.

But until that happens, he intends to take full advantage of their misguided loyalty.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As long as Roman doesn’t say he and Seth did anything that would result in them being in the same bed together naked, he’s good.

On Dean’s birthday, just a few days later, he gets absolutely shitfaced, even though it’s only the middle of the week.

Of course, he has no recollection of anything that happens that night, but his first real memory of being twenty-six is waking up naked in someone else’s bed in someone else’s apartment, the sun high in the sky and his head pounding like a motherfucker.

He steals clothes from the splintered dresser to wear, stares at himself in the cracked and chipped mirror while he puts them on.

The man he sees in the mirror looks like someone he hasn’t seen in years, someone he swore to leave behind in Cincinnati.

He doesn’t even recognize himself.

He pockets a bottle of aspirin he swipes from the bathroom and lets himself out, squinting and cursing at the sun when he makes it outside.

He then starts the process of trying to figure out where the hell he is and how far away his apartment is.

* * *

A few days after that, at the next taping, Dean has a match against Damien Sandow for the FCW 15 Championship. Apparently Dean “provoked him” with his promo. The general manager’s words, not his.

All the better for him; he’s become so used to matches of this sort that he’s sure he’ll win, and after he wins, he can use the stupid little medal to antagonize Seth further. For some reason, Seth’s all hung up over it, and Dean doesn’t get it.

It’s just a medal. He thinks it would be a better use of Seth’s time to chase the Florida Heavyweight Championship.

But, of course, Seth’s a dumbass, so obviously he’s not going to do the smart thing.

Dean’s in the process of stretching for his match when he’s approached by someone familiar. Thankfully, it’s just the person he wants to see.

“Hey,” Roman greets him. Dean grins at him.

“Hey, Rome.” He continues to stretch, cracking his knuckles slowly, one after the other.

“Heard it was your birthday,” Roman begins, and that causes Dean to pause, staring at him curiously. “Sorry I missed it. But hey, I’ll buy you a beer to make up for it.”

Dean tilts his head. “Free beer?”

“Yeah.”

“Like, at a bar?”

Roman is silent for a moment, staring at him with that typical unreadable expression of his ( _damn him_ , Dean thinks), but he eventually speaks once more.

“…Yeah.”

“I’m in.”

Dean’s near-immediate acceptance of the offer makes Roman smile, all warm and easy, and Dean wants to hate him and his stupid smile and his stupid face.

But he doesn’t really hate him.

He doesn’t think he could ever hate him.

“By the way,” Roman adds, clapping a hand on his good shoulder, “good luck with your match.”

Dean nods, but he forgets to offer the same to Roman, too busy debating whether or not to hate Roman for his good looks and his weirdly endearing personality. By the time he remembers, Roman’s gone, and he thinks it would be weird to go around looking for Roman, only to merely tell him ‘good luck.’

Instead, he goes to look for Seth.

He finds Seth leaning against his locker, also getting ready for his match. He’s got his stupid fancy smartphone in one hand; his earbuds plugged into the phone and tucked firmly in his ears. He’s listening to music; Dean can hear it faintly, and whatever it is, it sounds annoying as hell.

Dean comes to stand in front of him, so Seth is sure to see him. But Seth just ignores him.

“Hey, Sethie,” Dean greets.

Silence.

“Princess,” Dean tries again.

More silence.

“Seeeethiiiiee.”

Even more silence.

“You’re a dick,” Dean informs him.

That works, mostly; it results in Seth pulling one earbud from his ear, scowling at him, and telling him to go away.

But Dean doesn’t budge.

“You wound me, Sethie. I thought we were lovers,” he says overdramatically, being as loud as he possibly can (to attract attention, of course), clutching his chest as if he’s dying of heartbreak.

“Will you shut up?!” Seth hisses. “What the fuck do you want?”

Dean grins; oh, he loves pissing Sethie off.

“You want free beer?”

“What?”

“Ya heard me. You want free beer or not?”

“You probably poisoned it,” Seth accuses. Dean rolls his eyes.

“I don’t even _have_ it right now. How the hell ‘m I gonna poison it if I don’t have it?”

Seth doesn’t respond verbally, settling on simply glaring at him.

“Look, Rome’s takin’ me to a bar for my birthday, and I’m tryin’ to invite your ass. So are ya comin’ or not? Free beer. C’mon, Sethie. Everyone loves free beer.”

Seth narrows his eyes, staring at Dean with obvious suspicion. “Why are you trying to invite me?”

“Because I fuckin’ want to. And because I fuckin’ can. Don’t question my motives.”

“…When?”

“Tonight.”

Seth sighs heavily, like Dean is forcing him to go to this bar and offering him no reward. He’s silent, and Dean folds his arms, waiting.

Finally, Seth speaks. “I’m gonna need more than just beer to deal with you… but fine. I’ll come.”

Dean smirks. “See ya later, princess,” he says, and returns to his own locker, continuing to prepare for his match.

He doesn’t know why, but he’s really looking forward to tonight.

* * *

He loses his match, 3-0, but he doesn’t care.

In fact, he loses it specifically _because_ he doesn’t care.

The FCW 15 Championship doesn’t mean anything to him if it’s not around his neck or Seth’s, so instead of actively trying to win, he just actively tries to make a point, slamming Sandow’s forehead into an exposed turnbuckle numerous times, even after the time limit is up and the match has ended.

After the match, he changes into his street clothes so he can spy on Roman’s match against Antonio Cesaro and Seth’s match against Richie Steamboat. They win their respective matches ( _because they’re both fuckin’ showoffs_ , Dean thinks), and after Seth’s match is over, Dean returns to the locker room to wait for them.

It feels really odd, waiting for someone. Dean’s used to grabbing his bag and leaving, not giving a fuck about anyone else in the process. The difference now is unsettling, to say the least. 

Unsurprisingly, Roman’s the first one Dean sees. He’s already changed, and his long hair has been tied into a bun, although it’s still wet with sweat and water.

Dean sidles up to him immediately. “Hey, Rome,” he greets. Roman nods at him, actually smiling a little bit.

“Hey.”

“So, you promised me beer,” Dean says, as if Roman wasn’t already aware of that.

“Guess I did. You wanna hit the bar?”

“Yeah, but… I kinda invited someone along. Hope ya don’t mind.”

Roman’s brow furrows, though he still appears unreadable. “Who could you have possibly invited?” he asks.

Like clockwork, Seth walks around the corner, dressed in his usual painted-on skinny jeans and emo kid band tee, his bag slung over his shoulder and his hair also in a bun (Dean thinks he personally missed the long-hair memo).

“Speak of the devil,” Dean says, grinning. Seth kicks him.

“I’m not doing this for you,” he says flatly, while Dean is still pretending to be in pain from the kick.

“I know, I know. You’re doin’ it for the free beer. Can’t blame ya.”

Roman sighs, looking between the two of them as if they’re siblings fighting and he’s the exhausted parent. “Dean, please tell me you didn’t invite anyone else. Seth, please tell me _you_ didn’t invite anyone.”

“I didn’t,” Seth says, while Dean just grins wider and says “’S a secret,” even though he really didn’t invite anyone else.

“Alright. Let’s get outta here.”

* * *

 

They go to some bar Dean doesn’t recognize (probably because it seems to be a fairly nice bar; the only bars Dean knows in this city are the cheap, grungy, fairly unsafe bars with disgusting beer), and he immediately orders his promised beer. Roman goes for a beer as well, but Seth, apparently staying true to his declaration of needing more than just beer to deal with Dean, orders a whiskey shot.

Dean raises his eyebrows at Seth over the rim of his beer glass. “Am I really that bad?”

“You have no idea.”

“Good,” is what Dean responds with, pleased to still be able to get under Seth’s skin.

The three of them talk idly for a while after that, talking about everything from the business to their personal lives (though nothing too personal). Dean learns that Roman’s single (a piece of information Dean stores in his mental ‘ _things that might be useful later_ ’ folder), while Seth’s taken but “having issues with his girlfriend,” a fact that Seth shares with them after he’s consumed two whiskey shots and a glass of beer.

Sometime in the course of the night, Seth and Dean’s alcohol consumption turns into a competition, which is never a good idea, but it happens anyway. Dean refuses to be beaten, and when Seth orders a tequila shot, Dean orders two of them and downs them like they’re nothing (though he’s struggling internally; it’s been so long since he last had tequila he’s forgotten what it’s like). Then Seth orders a Jagerbomb, and Dean orders two, and the rest of their time at the bar is a blur after that.

In fact, the last event of the entire night that Dean remembers is Roman slapping down some folded bills to pay for their drinks, then ushering Seth and Dean out the door like children, one arm over Seth’s shoulders and the other over Dean’s, and Seth fucking _giggling_ at something, all high-pitched and actually kind of cute.

* * *

Dean wakes up the next morning feeling like he’s been run over repeatedly by every vehicle on the fucking planet.

He props himself up on his elbows, blinking slowly as he looks around the room.

He doesn’t know where the fuck he is, but it’s a nice room. Sparsely decorated, with just a bed, a dresser, and a nightstand, but it’s nice.

This bed is decidedly more spacious and comfortable than his bed, anyway.

He turns his head to the left and catches sight of a glass of water and a couple aspirin on the nightstand. Grateful, he sits up and snatches the aspirin, gulping them down. He drinks the entire glass, feeling a little bit better after he does so.

He sets the glass back down on the nightstand and turns his head to look at the other side of the room.

Very plain, but still nice.

He flops back down on the bed and stretches, yawning. He figures he could use some more rest, and someone must not have minded him being here, or else they wouldn’t have left him the aspirin.

He rolls over, only to come in contact with something solid and warm that’s definitely not the bed.

He peeks to see what it is – and, of course, because he just has all the luck, it’s Seth. Fortunately, Dean practically rolling on top of him didn’t wake him up, and he’s still sleeping soundly, looking almost peaceful.

Dean peers under the sheets, realizes that he’s naked – and that Seth is, too.

_What the fuck happened last night_?

He decides now is a good time to get up and get out (or risk cuddling with Seth in his sleep, or risk Seth killing him as a result of whatever happened last night that he can’t remember). He digs around in the dresser for something to wear, finds some boxers and puts them on. They’re a little too big for him, but he doesn’t care.

He slips out of the room quietly, closing the door behind him, hoping he doesn’t wake Seth up, because he is _extremely_ unprepared to deal with Seth’s shit like this.

All his focus seems to be lost after he leaves the room and he stumbles and nearly faceplants, catching himself at the last second and hauling himself back to his feet.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, holding the wall for guidance as he maneuvers his way down the hallway. He comes to what appears to be a small living room, with a TV on a TV stand and a couch facing it. Roman’s sprawled across the entirety of the couch, wearing only sweatpants, watching something on the TV with his hands folded across his stomach. At Dean’s entrance, though, he sits up, focusing his attention on Dean.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks.

“Like shit, but thanks for asking,” Dean says, leaning against the wall when his head starts to spin.

“Did you take the aspirin?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yes, mom,” he says dryly. “I just gotta wait for this shit to wear off, ‘s all. So where the hell am I?”

“You’re in my apartment. You were too drunk last night to drive… and too drunk to give me your address.”

“Sorry,” Dean apologizes, but as usual, he’s not really sorry. “Ya got a nice apartment.”

“Thanks,” Roman says offhandedly.

An awkward silence arises between them. Dean scratches his chest, looking briefly at whatever is on the TV screen. It looks boring, so Dean returns his attention to Roman. “So what the hell happened last night?” He’s vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps coming up beside him – Seth must be up and about, he thinks.

As long as Roman doesn’t say he and Seth did anything that would result in them being in the same bed together naked, he’s good.

Roman takes a deep breath, like he’s about to drop the entire weight of the world on their shoulders, like he’s going to tell them they’re responsible for the next five world wars and/or the destruction of the entire galaxy.

But that’s an understatement compared to what Roman actually tells them.

“We had a threesome.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He likes everything. Don't ya, princess?"   
> Seth nods, smiling at the camera. There’s a haze in his eyes, a mixture of both lust and alcohol intoxication. It’s perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW content in this chapter, mostly dirty talk and some come sharing/comeplay. If you're uncomfortable with either of these things, please skip this chapter.

_“What?”_ Seth and Dean exclaim (in unison, because the world hates them, apparently).

Roman nods, his face still serious. Dean’s silent, not knowing how to process this new piece of information.

He knew he must’ve done something with Seth, or else they wouldn’t have ended up in the same bed naked, but this is a completely unexpected turn of events.

Just as Dean’s about to formulate a response, he sees Roman’s lips twitch into a smile.

“What?” Dean demands.

To his surprise, Roman actually _laughs_.

“I’m just fuckin’ with y’all. We didn’t do anything. Although you two _did_ try, very persistently, to drag me into bed.”

Dean’s silent, considering. “Well,” he finally says, glancing at Seth, who apparently doesn’t have anything intelligent to say, considering his silence, “I think you should recount everything that happened last night. ‘Cause I don’t remember a fuckin’ thing, and I don’t think he does, either,” he says, pointing at Seth. In fact, Seth looks vaguely pale, and Dean’s pretty sure the guy’s gonna puke in the next three minutes.

But Seth can find the bathroom on his own. Dean just wants to know what happened.

“You two started ordering a shit ton of heavy drinks, like you were trying to make it a competition or somethin’. I was convinced you were gonna end up with alcohol poisoning, cause you were just drinking ‘em like they were nothin’. But I had to get y’all out of there ‘cause you started trying to take your clothes off. I don’t know what the fuck that was about, but I wasn’t about to let you get arrested for public indecency or some shit like that. So I hauled your asses out and threw you in the back seat of my car. So I start the drive to my apartment, and I look in the rear-view mirror briefly… only to see you two making out. Y’all were trying to distract me. Like, Dean, you were asking Seth what he thought you should do to, and I quote, ‘get Roman to pull over and fuck you in the backseat.’”

Dean smirks, glancing at Seth, who’s frowning, obviously displeased with what he’s being told. “Sounds like me.”

“I did pull over, but only to tell the both of you to at least _try_ to keep your hands off each other until we got to the apartment. Which pretty much failed miserably, because as soon as I parked in the parking lot, you two were all over each other again. I could barely get y’all inside. And then once we did get inside, you two were all over me.”

Dean looks at Seth again, noticing he’s now blushing slightly. He pretends to scratch his cheek, but really, he’s hiding his smirk in the palm of his hand.

“Dean, you told Seth ‘Kiss him to distract him while I suck his dick,’ and then in about half a second, you were on your knees and you’d gotten my pants open. I don’t know how the fuck you could do that when you were drunk off your ass and could hardly walk, but, it happened. I’m not gonna lie, I was very tempted to let you, but I didn’t. Anyway, I managed to get both of you off of me – much to your disappointment – and then I basically locked y’all in the guest room, where you two proceeded to do somethin’. I know you were up to somethin’ cause I could hear it… and because I accidentally left my phone in there. And y’all left a video for me.”

“I wanna see,” is what Dean immediately responds with. He grabs Seth’s hand and drags him to the couch (even though Seth plants his feet in an attempt not to be moved; Dean overpowers him easily), forcing him to sit, and then sprawling himself between Seth and Roman. “Lemme see.”

Roman pulls his phone out from the pocket of his sweatpants, tapping on the screen a few times, and then hands it to Dean. Dean positions the phone between himself and Seth so they can both see it, although Seth is still frowning. He kicks Seth’s ankle, just to get a reaction out of him, only for Seth to frown deeper.

God, he needs to lighten up.

Then again, he’s probably got one hell of a hangover. He’d been trying to out-drink Dean, apparently, and no one can out-drink Dean.

But still. He doesn’t have to act like a bitch.

Dean presses play on the video and crowds in closer to Seth, their heads bumping as Seth grudgingly looks down at the screen.

The video begins with Dean’s face way too close to the camera, and the Dean in the video mutters to himself, handing the phone to Seth. Dean is above Seth, and his head comes to rest on Seth’s shoulder as Seth tilts the phone up and holds it far enough back so both of their faces can be clearly seen.

“Hey, Rome,” Dean says to the camera, grinning as he runs his fingers through Seth’s hair. “So ya turned us down tonight… I can’t imagine why. I mean, look at this,” he says, tightening his grip in Seth’s hair and pulling, making the man beneath him moan. “Look at this whore. He likes everything. Don’t ya, princess?”

Seth nods, smiling at the camera. There’s a haze in his eyes, a mixture of both lust and alcohol intoxication. It’s perfect.

The Dean in the video shifts slightly, and Seth moans again. “He’s mine, Rome, jus’ so ya know… but I’d be happy to share him with ya.” The camera changes its angle as Dean pulls it from Seth’s hands and sits up, holding the phone out at arm’s length from his body and letting the camera trail down his body. He’s naked, and his cock is pressed into the curve of Seth’s ass. Seth is also naked and is being pressed into the bed, lying flat on his stomach, propping his front up on his elbows.

“But it’s not just him I’m offerin’. I’m also offerin’ myself. That includes my very nice ass, which is almost nicer than this one,” he says, turning the phone so the camera points at Seth’s ass, which he smacks to punctuate his point. Seth yelps, but the yelp dissolves into a giggle. “Cause I dunno if you know this, Rome, but I give it _and_ I take it. And you look like someone I’d be very happy to take it from. And I know Sethie would also be very happy to take it from ya. Wouldn’t ya?” he asks Seth.

“Mhm,” Seth mumbles. “Stop talkin’ to him ‘n fuck me, Dean,” he whines. Dean chuckles, lowering himself again so the majority of his weight is beside Seth, though his head is on Seth’s shoulder again. “Look at this needy fuckin’ whore,” he says to the camera. “I’ll let you fuck him, Rome, if ya want to, but not before I do. Which I would be doin’, right now, if he had some condoms and some damn lube. Or if you did. What kinda host doesn’t provide lube and condoms for his guests? ‘S terrible hospitality, Rome.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Seth whines, growing needier by the second. Dean smiles, presses an almost-affectionate kiss into the side of Seth’s neck.

“I got ya, princess,” he murmurs. He drops the phone, and all that can be seen for a few minutes is the ceiling, but the sound of skin slapping skin and low, rough moans can be heard. There’s a whimper that sounds like Dean’s name that trails into a moan that must be the indication of Seth coming, followed not long after by a low groan that is definitely the indication of Dean coming.

About ten seconds later, the phone is moved, and the camera faces Dean and Seth again. Dean grins slyly at the camera, and then puts the fingers of his free hand up to Seth’s mouth. His fingertips are covered in cum (probably his own). “Open,” he tells Seth, who opens his mouth, ever obedient. He presses his fingertips into Seth’s mouth, and Seth’s lips close around his fingertips, cleaning them. “Don’t swallow it,” he murmurs.  He pulls his fingertips from Seth’s mouth and places his hand on Seth’s other side before leaning in to kiss him, tasting the cum on his tongue. They exchange slow, lazy kisses, sharing Dean’s cum between them, and eventually he kisses the rest into Seth’s mouth. “Now swallow.” Seth does as he’s told, swallowing the cum in his mouth before smiling dazedly at the camera once more.

Dean looks at the camera one last time, winking at it. “Think about it, Rome,” he says, and the video ends.

After the video ends, a slightly uncomfortable silence arises, and Dean pretends he’s not achingly hard and not dying to do that with Seth all over again right this very second.

Of course, Seth gets up and leaves the room.

Typical.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean likes that; likes to pretend that he’s needed, wanted.  
> It’s always just a fleeting illusion, but he enjoys it while it lasts.

“I’m gonna go look for him,” Dean announces, as if his whereabouts matter to Roman. He proceeds to hunt around the apartment, looking for Seth, until he finds him, unsurprisingly, in the bathroom, on his knees in front of the toilet, puking his guts out.

“See, this is what you get,” Dean says as he approaches Seth, bending down and gingerly pulling his hair away from his face. “When you try to out-drink me. You’re a lightweight. It doesn’t work.”

“Fuck you,” Seth mutters weakly, pressing his forehead against the rim of the toilet bowl once everything in his stomach has apparently expelled itself. “’N fuck off. ‘S your fault anyway.”

“How is this my fault? I didn’t tell ya to drink a shit ton of heavy shit, did I?”

“You invited me. I needed strong shit to put up with you.”

“No you don’t. You’re just bein’ a pussy. You can deal with me without havin’ to resort to excessive alcohol consumption.”

Seth tries to slap at him, missing horribly.

“You can do better than that,” Dean goads. “C’mon. You wanna hit me? Hit me.”

“ _Dean_ ,” he hears from behind him, a sharp reprimand. Of course Roman has to come in and separate them. It’s like he has a fuckin’ parent now. “Stop irritating Seth. Seth, stop blaming Dean.”

Roman comes up beside Dean, rubbing a hand lightly over Seth’s back, but Seth curls away from his touch. Dean sees something he can’t really identify flicker across Roman’s face, something like hurt.

He has no idea why Roman would be hurt. Seth’s _always_ a little bitch, it seems; it’s only natural for that to be more prominent when he’s massively hungover.

“Do you need anything, Seth?” Roman asks gently. Dean’s actually surprised (and a little jealous, but he snuffs that idea out immediately) at the amount of genuine care in his tone.

“Sleep,” Seth croaks out, his voice raw. “And water.” Peeking at Dean briefly, he adds, “And for Dean to go the fuck away.”

“Hey!” Dean protests, frowning. “What did I do?”

“Exist,” Seth murmurs. Roman sighs, looking at Dean helplessly, with a shrug, as if he’s saying _sorry_. Dean just folds his arms across his chest, displeased.

He thinks he likes Seth better when Seth’s drunk; he’s all warm and pliable, happily doing whatever Dean asks of him, clinging to Dean like Dean is his lifeline.

Dean likes that; likes to pretend that he’s needed, wanted.

It’s always just a fleeting illusion, but he enjoys it while it lasts.

But now, he’s angry, and a little upset, and he doesn’t know why. The feelings he’s currently experiencing bother him; they feel wrong. He doesn’t even know what they are, and they feel foreign to him, making him just uncomfortable enough for it to be bothersome, and he doesn’t like it.

He watches in silence as Roman helps Seth up, watches in silence as Roman helps Seth back into the guest room to sleep off his hangover.

When he’s sure neither Roman nor Seth is paying attention to him, he leaves.

Just like that; wearing solely stolen boxers, with his feet bare, because he doesn’t fucking care. It’s not even cold outside, anyway; it may be the middle of December, but it’s Orlando and it’s probably about noon, so it’s just cool enough for him to feel the slightest chill as he walks outside.

At first, he intends to just go outside and clear his head, but as he sits outside with his back against the building’s wall, wishing he had a cigarette, he finds himself only growing angrier.

He just needs to get away from here. Just for now. Everything in his head is screaming _wrong, wrong, wrong,_ he doesn’t belong here; he doesn’t belong around people like Roman and Seth.

He squeezes his eyes shut and presses his face into his hands, hoping desperately that it’ll shut his head up, but it only gets worse, and when he lifts his head, his hands are wet.

He smiles as he wipes his hands dry on the fabric of the boxers; it’s a bitter, self-deprecating smile.

Because he can’t believe he ever thought he was worth anyone’s time.

So he gets up and walks away. He walks across the parking lot, across the grass by the street, and onto the sidewalk. He stops once he hits the sidewalk, and turns around, staring at the apartment building looming over his head.

He wonders if he should come back, if Roman, or even Seth, is looking for him, worrying about him. He wonders if he should come back and tell them he just went for a walk, ‘because the weather’s so nice.’

And then he remembers that Roman and Seth don’t give a fuck about him, could never possibly give a fuck about him, because he’s not worth giving a fuck about.

He knows, deep down, that they’re better off without him around.

So he turns away again, and he keeps walking.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I kind of don’t hate him as much as I used to,” he finally admits. “He’s still a dick, but… in a really endearing way. I know that doesn’t make sense, but he doesn’t make any sense, so why should anything I feel about him make sense?”

Eventually, Dean starts to regret his decision.

Although he hasn’t wavered in his belief that Roman and Seth would have it easier if he wasn’t around, his head is starting to pound again, and he feels slightly nauseous, and all he wants to do is find a bed and pass out for the next couple of hours.

But he’s walked so far that Roman’s apartment building is out of his sight now, and he has no idea where the fuck he is. He isn’t really sure how to get back to Roman’s apartment; he’s taken far too many turns and, with his head pounding, can’t remember where, so it’s essentially impossible to retrace his steps.

He comes across a tiny convenience store and decides it’ll be a good place to rest, just for a few minutes. It’s not very safe-looking, but what the hell. Neither is he.

He settles down by the side of the building, his back against the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest. Sitting here, his head aches a little less, but he still just wants to pass out.

But he can’t.

He tilts his head up toward the sky and closes his eyes briefly. Just for a minute, he thinks. Just to make him stop feeling so dizzy and nauseous.

 _Just for a minute_.

* * *

When he wakes up, he realizes with a start that he’s no longer outside, nor is he by that tiny convenience store. Instead, he’s in a bed. He sits up and looks around, only to realize that he’s back in Roman’s guest room, in Roman’s apartment.

So Roman must have found him.

Huh.

He wonders if Roman’s gonna be pissed at him for walking out. He doesn’t know why Roman would care, though; why spend more time around him than absolutely necessary?

Maybe Roman wanted him to stay and help nurse Seth back to health.

The thought is a little irritating. It’s really not his fault Seth drank too much, dammit. Many a fool has tried to out-drink him and experienced the same results. Seth is just one of many. But Seth is the first one of which the blame is placed squarely on him.

It’s not fair. And Roman is a terrible person for giving into Seth’s little needy act, he thinks.

His head is starting to pound again, and with a muffled groan, he drops back down onto the bed, burying his face into the pillow.

His complaints against Roman and Seth can wait.

* * *

When Dean wakes a second time, it’s to the sound of voices. Recognizing them as Seth and Roman’s voices, just outside the door, he pretends to still be asleep, in case they come in. He wants to hear what they have to say, what they say when they think he’s not listening.

He’s always found that what someone says about you when they don’t know you’re there says a lot about them as a person and about what they honestly think of you, so he’s intrigued.

As predicted, Roman and Seth enter the guest room, the door swinging open an immediate indication of their arrival.

“I found him passed out outside a gas station,” he hears Roman say, his thick gravelly voice distinct. “Thought I’d lost him for a second.”

“Christ. What the hell was he doing there?” That’s definitely Seth; Dean would recognize his nasally tone anywhere.

“I don’t know. One minute he was in the bathroom while I was helping you to bed… the next he was gone.”

“What was he _thinking_?” Seth asks. Dean wants to reply _I was thinking that I didn’t want to be around your bitchy ass_ , but he’s supposed to be asleep. So he bites his tongue.

“Like I said, I don’t know. I’m just glad I was able to find him.”

Dean hears footsteps across the floor and then the bed dips with added weight, and he’s acutely aware of the presence of someone next to him, like they’re sitting on the edge of the bed, right beside him.

He expects it to be Roman.

“You fucking idiot. I hate you,” he hears the man next to him say, and he realizes that that’s certainly not Roman; it’s Seth.

But Seth doesn’t sound angry; just exasperated.

“I hate you,” Seth repeats, and then he feels lips on his forehead, the faintest of kisses being left there.

That’s definitely unexpected. He doesn’t know what to do, and he feels like he’s on the verge of blowing his cover. He tries desperately to continue to pretend he’s still asleep, but he doesn’t know how much longer he can do it.

“I’m starting to doubt you really hate him,” Dean hears Roman say. “You seem awful fond of him.”

“I do hate him,” Seth protests immediately. “He’s a dick and overconfident and _so_ confusing, and he’s always fucking with my stuff, and fucking with me, trying to get in my head. But…”

“But?”

Seth sighs, like he doesn’t know what to say, and Dean feels fingers combing through his hair.

“I kind of don’t hate him as much as I used to,” he finally admits. “He’s still a dick, but… in a really endearing way. I know that doesn’t make sense, but _he_ doesn’t make any sense, so why should anything I feel about him make sense?”

Roman chuckles. “Looks like he’s done a good job of getting in your head, then.”

“I’m serious. Look at him. You can’t tell me you don’t find him weirdly endearing.”

A few seconds of silence pass before Roman speaks. “Mm,” he hums. “You’re right. I can’t.”

“I always wonder what goes on in that head of his,” Seth murmurs, and now Dean feels Seth’s hand on his chin, his thumb gently stroking his cheekbone. “He’s the craziest guy I’ve ever been in the ring with… possibly the craziest guy I’ve ever known. But it doesn’t take anything away from him,” he says, his voice a kind of hushed awe. “It kind of… makes him _him_ , I think.”

Roman hums his agreement, even though Dean’s sure he’s never had a match with Roman, so Roman can’t actually attest to the ‘been in the ring with’ part.

A quiet, almost peaceful silence arises that’s broken after a few minutes when Roman suggests he and Seth go and leave Dean alone. Seth agrees, and the two leave the room. Dean’s about to open his eyes and sit up and stretch when the door swings open again and he hears hurried footsteps toward the bed. Then he feels lips on his, and he realizes Seth is kissing him.

It’s not angry, like their usual conscious and non-intoxicated kisses. This one is gentle, so gentle that Dean can actually pretend there’s care in it and be half-convinced. It takes everything in him and then some to keep his mouth slack, to not kiss Seth back just like that, and pour all his false gentleness and false care into it.

When Seth pulls away, he kisses Dean’s forehead again, and then he’s gone, the door shutting behind him quickly like he was never there.

Dean’s left perplexed and kind of, just kind of, wanting more.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His poison will taint Roman’s purity, his kindness, everything that makes him who he is.  
> He can’t let Roman soil himself like that.

Dean wakes up for a third time much later, the room almost completely dark from the sun sinking below the horizon. He feels better, like his hangover is finally starting to clear.

He also feels like he’s been at Roman’s apartment too long; he’s sure Roman doesn’t want him there any longer.

So he attempts to find his clothes and actually succeeds in doing so, then puts them on. He shoves his shoes on his feet and shuffles out of the room and down the hallway. He stops when he reaches the living room, eyes finding Roman immediately, who’s sitting on the couch, watching something on the TV.

Roman’s gaze turns from the TV to him. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Dean echoes, his voice soft. He feels vaguely uncomfortable; something in his mind is telling him he needs to leave, right now, because Roman doesn’t want him there.

But Roman isn’t acting like he doesn’t want him there.

“Are you doing okay?” Roman asks. Dean nods.

“Just got a lot on my mind,” he offers as an excuse, which isn’t entirely untrue. Roman nods, studying him with that same inscrutable expression that Dean wants to hate, but can’t.

“Come sit,” Roman finally says, patting the spot on the couch next to him. Dean freezes.

He kind of wants to, because honestly, nothing sounds better to him right now than curling into Roman’s side like he belongs there, but he can’t.

He can’t overstay his welcome. Which he’s already done.

“No. ‘M just gonna…” he trails off, nodding his head toward the door, before heading for it.

“Dean,” Roman says, and he can tell Roman’s getting up from the couch, heading towards him. His hand is on the doorknob, and he starts to turn it.

But then there’s a hand over his, effectively stopping him. “What are you doing?” Roman asks, voice soft in his ear.

“Leaving,” he mutters. “Have to.”

“You don’t have to. Not yet, anyway. You can stay a little longer, if you want.”

Roman actually sounds like he’s _pleading_ with him. Like he _wants_ Dean to stay.

Dean has to know, even if Roman just lies to his face. “D’ya want me to stay?”

The response comes after a few seconds of silence, like Roman is choosing his words carefully. “Yeah,” Roman finally says. “I do.”

In his heart, Dean knows it’s a lie, but he accepts the lie as if it were truth. So Dean pulls away from Roman, pulls away from the door, and shuffles over to the couch, where he makes himself comfortable.

Roman is quick to follow suit, and to his surprise, he wraps an arm around Dean, pulling him into his side. Dean tenses up momentarily, but he forces himself to relax, to accept it. Just because it’s all lies doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy it.

“Where’s Seth?” Dean asks, genuinely curious (and because he cannot let Seth see him be this close to Roman; he’ll never live it down).

“I took him home ‘bout an hour ago.” Dean breathes a sigh of relief at that; he won’t have to worry about Seth catching him in this very compromising situation.

There’s silence for a while after that, Dean lost in his own thoughts and subconsciously curling even closer to Roman, until he realizes Roman is staring at him with a peculiar look on his face.

“What? I got somethin’ on my face?”

Roman smiles softly. “No. Just… I don’t know.”

A thought comes to Dean. “Are you checkin’ me out?”

“Maybe,” Roman replies, and the thought of Roman checking _him_ out when Roman is basically a Greek god makes him laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothin’. I just think you’re better lookin’ on the eyes than I am.”

“I disagree.”

“You’re a fuckin’ liar. Look at ya. You’re all handsome and muscle-y. I’m nothin’.”

“You’re not nothing, Dean. You’re… something.”

“How romantic.” Roman’s lips twitch into a smile, and Dean realizes he really likes Roman’s smile, wants to see it more often.

He also realizes that he’s being disgustingly soft right now and he’s concerned about what the hell it means for him to be like that just from Roman saying some stupid shit.

“Dean,” Roman says, forcing him out of his argument with himself. “Can I kiss you?”

It feels like all the breath’s been stolen from his lungs when Roman asks that, and he can’t imagine why Roman would want to kiss him, when Roman could probably kiss anyone he wants to, people way better looking than Dean, and he really shouldn’t kiss Roman, but despite himself, he nods.

He tips his head up, watches Roman as he leans in, but he closes his eyes when their lips touch.

Their kiss is perfect. It’s slow, and gentle, and their lips fit together perfectly. Dean feels a spark of something – he doesn’t know what, but it reminds him faintly of what he feels when he kisses Seth. And it makes him realize he could kiss Roman all day, if Roman allowed him to.

He wants more.

He shouldn’t want more, shouldn’t take more, but Roman’s hand is cupping his face and bringing them closer, and all rational thoughts go out the window.

So when Roman pulls away, only to kiss him again a few seconds later, he doesn’t protest.

And when Roman gently pushes him down, so he’s lying flat on his back on the couch, and Roman is hovering above him, essentially straddling him, he doesn’t protest.

And when Roman asks him if it’s okay, he nods.

And when Roman is pushing his shirt up, he helps Roman pull it off of him, and then runs his fingers through Roman’s hair as he lays almost reverent kisses across the muscled plane of Dean’s chest.

It’s only when Roman’s lips reach his stomach and his fingers are gingerly undoing the button on Dean’s jeans that rationality comes back to him, makes him stiffen and his blood run ice-cold.

His mind screams at him to stop this, let Roman go no further.

Because if he lets this go too far, if he lets Roman touch him completely, lets Roman take him, he’ll ruin Roman. His poison will taint Roman’s purity, his kindness, everything that makes him who he is.

He can’t let Roman soil himself like that.

Roman feels him stiffen, and pulls away, concern obvious in his eyes. “Dean? Did I go too far? Do you want me to stop?”

He can’t explain it, can’t explain why he needs to stop, but he nods, desperate, frantic, and Roman gets up off the couch, giving him space.

“I’m sorry,” Roman offers, but Dean shakes his head. It’s not that, it’s not that, but Roman will never understand.

He grabs his shirt from where it fell by the wayside, bunches it up in his hand as he heads for the door. He stops with his hand on the doorknob, turns to look at Roman.

“Rome,” he says softly, and Roman looks at him, his expression unreadable, as usual. “You’re too good for me. Stick to Seth… he’s better for you.”

It’s probably one of the most honest things he’s said in years. He may hate Seth, but it’s still true that Seth is an infinitely better person than he is, even being a smug, cocky asshole.

So Roman can have Seth, and Seth can have Roman, and everything will be so much easier for them. He’ll just remove himself from the equation, because as tempting as the thought of ruining Roman and Seth is to some part of him, another part of him understands that he can’t let them do that to themselves.

He leaves before Roman can respond, tugs his shirt on right outside the door.

_It’s for the best_ ; he tries to convince himself as he walks away.

He’s not convinced.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He turns away when he sees them, pretending he doesn’t feel an ache in his chest and doubt in his mind.

They don’t talk about it.

Dean sees Roman and Seth at the next week’s taping, but they don’t see him, not at first, and even if they did, Dean’s pretty sure they wouldn’t want to talk to him.

He finds them in the locker room, talking to each other, standing too close for Dean’s liking, but he remembers it’s what he asked. He was the one who told Roman to have Seth, if he wanted him. And apparently, Roman had taken him up on that offer.

He turns away when he sees them, pretending he doesn’t feel an ache in his chest and doubt in his mind.

* * *

He cuts a promo in which he accuses all his past opponents in FCW (including Seth) of being cowards, of being too afraid to face him now, because they’re scared of the monster that he is, the monster that rules the company.

It all rings so unbearably true, in his mind; he is a monster, but let them be afraid. Let Roman and Seth be afraid, because it’s much easier for them to be afraid and keep a distance on their own than it is for Dean to push them away himself.

He passes by Roman in the locker room, and Roman just looks at him, his eyes unusually hard, cold, and shakes his head. Dean wonders if he’s already poisoned him.

Even Seth doesn’t acknowledge him. Dean pokes him, prods him, throws harsh words his way, but he gets no response whatsoever.

So Dean just grabs his bag from his locker and leaves, noting that he kind of feels like shit, but he doesn’t want to accept why.

It’s definitely not because of Roman and Seth, though.

Definitely not.

* * *

Over the next few days, anger bubbles up in him.

He’s angry that Roman and Seth are ignoring him, angry that Roman looked at him so coldly, as if he had proclaimed false hatred for Roman. All Dean had done was prevent him from ruining himself. Was that really such a bad thing?

So during the next taping, when Antonio Cesaro is cutting a promo trash-talking Seth and Seth runs out and attacks him, Dean follows.

He’s not supposed to, but if he gets fired, so fucking be it.

Seth tosses Cesaro into the ring, landing punches to his body, when Dean dashes up the steel steps to the ring and gets into the ring and flings himself at Seth. Seth sees him coming and knocks him down with an elbow to his chest, landing another blow to his forehead as Dean backs into the corner, but Cesaro comes after Seth and Seth’s forced to pay attention to him instead of Dean.

Dean uses the ropes to haul himself back to his feet and throws himself at Seth again, landing on top of him and throwing punches at his face. Seth tries to cover his face with his hands _(the fuckin’ coward),_ but Dean opts to punch whatever he can reach, landing square blows to Seth’s chest and back while trying to wrench Seth’s hands away from his face.

Eventually, his blind rage drains out of him, and he tires of attacking Seth, instead getting to his feet and smirking at his handiwork. Seth is cowering in a ball on the canvas, his hands still pressed firmly to his face. Dean bends down, his face a few feet from Seth’s.

“This is what ya get!” he shouts at Seth, and Seth pulls his hands away from his face only to attempt to slap at Dean, but Dean grabs his wrist and shoves his arm back down. He gets down on his knees and tangles his fingers in Seth’s hair and pulls him to a sitting position by his hair, causing Seth to scream in pain. He eventually lets go and gets up and walks away from Seth to the other side of the ring, watching as Cesaro kicks at Seth, who’s sprawled out on the canvas again.

Of course someone has to interfere; it’s what they do best, apparently, but it only irritates him further when Abraham Washington gets in the ring and starts attacking him. Fortunately, he ends up going after Cesaro, and Seth targets Dean again, having gotten to his feet in the midst of the distraction.

Seth is kicking Dean into the corner when a referee pulls him away, and Dean gives himself the opportunity to breathe (and to marvel at how right this feels; how right it feels to be back in the ring, beating up Seth, just like he’d done in July and August).  

* * *

The general manager apparently gets the brilliant idea of turning the brawl into an actual match, with Seth and Abraham Washington on one side and Dean and Antonio Cesaro on the other.

Seth’s gaze is locked on Dean, jaw clenched tight, even though Dean decides to let Cesaro go at him first. When the bell rings to start the match officially, Seth lunges at Cesaro, evidently treating him like he’s Dean, swinging wildly at him with all the force he can muster.

Cesaro backs Seth into their corner, and Seth, noticing Dean, tries to swing at him, but Dean hops off the apron so he can’t be hit. Seth begins to attack Cesaro again, so Dean thinks it’ll be a good idea to climb back up onto the apron, but Seth turns and punches him in the face, knocking him off the apron once more.

“Fuckin’ asshole,” Dean grumbles as he climbs up onto the apron once more. Cesaro has ended up in their corner once more, so Dean slaps him on the back to tag himself in and ducks under the top rope.

Seth sees him coming and tags himself out.

Coward.

He goes around for a while with Washington, not really focusing on the match until the guy puts him in a submission hold in his corner and tags Seth in.

_Finally_ , Dean thinks. He’s relishing in the vibrating energy he’s feeling from being in the ring with Seth, even as Seth knocks him on his ass and lands a kick to his back.

Seth shoves him into the corner and starts punching him in the stomach, continuing until Dean is bent over, clutching his stomach and trying to remember how to breathe.

Seth turns his attention to Cesaro, which allows him the time he needs to get up and recollect himself, and Dean runs at Seth and drives him stomach-first into the corner. He elbows Seth in the back (but not before not-so-subtly grabbing his ass, because he can, because what are boundaries) and then lets go of him, walking toward the center of the ring.

Unfortunately, after that, Seth manages to fight his way past Dean into his corner to tag Washington in, and Dean tags Cesaro in because he doesn’t feel like dealing with anyone other than Seth, and it’s a horrible mistake, because the rest of the match is a blur that ends in Washington pinning Cesaro for the win.

It refuels his previous anger, and Dean storms out without a glance back, not wanting to see Seth rubbing the victory in his face. As he stomps down the hallway, his anger and frustration begin to overflow, requiring an outlet, and he finds himself facing the same wall that has dealt with his abuse so many times before.

He clenches his fist and stares down at his knuckles, which have mostly healed from the last time they met this wall. A part of him is telling him not to do it, he’s done it enough; but the part that wins out begs him to do it, and so he does. It helps; he can feel his anger draining with every blow. After a few punches, his knuckles have yet to split, but they’re aching and definitely starting to bruise. He wonders if he should stop, but the anger left in him says _no_ , and he punches the wall once more, for good measure, and the last punch is enough to make his knuckles split and blood to seep out over his skin. He smiles bitterly as he stares at his knuckles, imagining making Seth lick the blood off of them.

He actually wants to.

* * *

He doesn’t get the chance to, unfortunately. By the time he gets into the locker room, Seth is gone, his locker closed and any trace of him being there also gone.

So Dean just parks himself on one of the locker room benches and cleans himself up, just like he used to. He grimaces as he pours rubbing alcohol over his knuckles, biting his tongue to keep from making a sound (although he’s pretty sure he bites hard enough that his teeth create a wound in his tongue and his tongue starts to bleed, too; his mouth is real metallic-tasting). He cleans up the blood from his knuckles and wraps them in bandages, too tight to be comfortable, but that’s fine by him.

Somehow, he feels like he deserves this.

* * *

There are no tapings for the next two weeks, because of Christmas (another bullshit holiday, in Dean’s opinion; he despises it all, with every fiber of his being) and New Year’s. Dean spends the majority of his time off the same way he had when he’d been given Thanksgiving off; mostly cooped up in his apartment, sleeping and drinking, sometimes hitting the gym (he likes to run until his lungs burn and he sees spots, because it helps him not think). Sometimes he’ll try to watch something on his crappy TV that only works half the time and only has three channels, but around this time of year, the channels usually only show seasonal crap that he loathes.

It’s on the evening of New Year’s Eve (at least, he thinks it is; he hasn’t done a very good job of paying attention to what time it is or what day it is), when he’s curled up on his bed, attempting to watch some boring show on his crappy TV just to kill time, that he hears a knock on the door of his apartment.

He frowns at the door, confused. He’s at least 98% sure he didn’t drunkenly order takeout, so he has no idea who could possibly be on the other side of the door.

He decides that solely boxer briefs is appropriate attire for answering the door (he’s too fuckin’ lazy to put on anything else, anyway), and drags himself out of bed, heading for the door. He opens the door, entirely unexpected for what he sees on the other side.

It’s Seth. Looking vaguely uncomfortable and out of place in his painted-on skinny jeans and stupid band shirt that’s mostly covered by a solid black hoodie.

“What—how the hell did you find out where I live?” Dean asks, dumbfounded. Seth doesn’t answer that.

Instead, he just says, “Let me in.”

“Why should I? This is my sacred, Seth-free zone. Why would I wanna ruin it by bringing a Seth into it?”

Seth scowls at him, and Dean grins shamelessly. It’s still fun to piss off Seth, even after all this time.

Seth shoves his hands into his pockets, looking like he’s struggling for a reason, and Dean leans against the doorframe expectantly. “Well? I ain’t got a problem with just shuttin’ the door and leavin’ ya out here. So cough it up, Sethie.”

“I have something to tell you,” Seth finally says.

“How come ya can’t tell me right here, then?”

“Because it’s personal,” Seth says, obviously flustered.

“I think ya should just tell me. Right here, right now, or I’m just gonna shut the door in your face.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Seth says, an urgency in his tone that Dean has only heard when he’s drunk and begging to be touched. “Just let me in and I’ll tell you, alright? I don’t want to attract attention.”

Maybe it’s the urgency in his tone, or maybe it’s something else that Dean doesn’t understand, but he huffs and steps aside to let Seth in. He shuts the door behind Seth and turns to face him. “You got one minute to tell me, or else I’m kickin’ ya out.”

Seth nods, and Dean realizes that for once, he looks _nervous_. It’s a strange sight to see on Seth Rollins, but he’s definitely nervous.

Dean wonders what the hell’s going on with him.

When Seth finally tells him the reason for his arrival, he almost chokes on air. If he had been drinking something, he would’ve choked on it and spit it out all over Seth, because he can’t believe what he hears.

“I want you to fuck me.” Seth’s voice wavers, but Dean still hears the statement clearly.

“You _what?”_

“I want you to fuck me,” Seth repeats, his voice stronger now, steadier.

Dean tries to pinch himself subtly to see if he’s just fallen asleep in the midst of watching TV and this is all a dream.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mild pain Dean feels when he pinches himself confirms that this is not a dream and Seth Rollins is asking him to fuck him.  
> Dean will gladly oblige.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW content in this chapter, including anal sex, anal fingering, rimming, oral sex, dirty talk, and Dean giving Seth a facial. If you're uncomfortable with any of these things, please skip this chapter.

The mild pain Dean feels when he pinches himself confirms that this is not a dream and Seth Rollins is asking him to fuck him.

Dean will gladly oblige.

“Did you seriously come here just to get fucked?”

Seth nods, a red flush tinting his cheeks. He pulls something from the pockets of his hoodie and holds it up, as apparent evidence. Dean recognizes the something as a small bottle of lube and a few condoms.

Dean grins. “You fuckin’ whore,” he says, almost fondly. “Well, s’ good you came to me, because I am a fucking expert. The fucking expert of fucking, if you will.” He snatches the bottle of lube and the condoms from Seth’s hand, and then slings an arm around Seth’s shoulder. “You ever been fucked before?”

Seth nods.

“When?”

“I did some experimenting in high school,” he mumbles, his face flushing even redder. “And in the indies.”

“Well, you can forget about all of that,” Dean declares. “Cause you’ve never been fucked by Dean Ambrose. I’m gonna fuck you so good, it’s gonna feel like you’re bein’ fucked for the first time. I’m gonna fuck you so good that your ass is gonna hurt tomorrow and you’ll have to walk with a fuckin’ limp. I’m gonna fuck you so good that you’ll never be able to get fucked by anyone else cause all you’ll want is my dick.”

Seth makes a noise that Dean interprets as want, hiding his rapidly reddening face in Dean’s neck.

“S’okay, princess. I got you.”

He guides Seth into the bedroom, lays him flat on his back on the bed before he sets the lube and condoms down on the nightstand.

Seth watches him as he climbs onto the bed and straddles Seth, bending over him to kiss him. Dean makes sure it’s not super gentle, but not super rough, either – it’s right in between, an alternating mix of softness and edge. Before Dean breaks the kiss, he nips Seth’s bottom lip and relishes in the sound that brings to Seth’s lips.

“I think you’re extremely overdressed,” Dean informs him. “Should we fix that?”

Seth nods, and they begin the process of undressing him; first pulling off his hoodie and then his stupid band shirt (both of which Dean intends to hide so he can keep them, because reasons). Dean struggles for a little bit with Seth’s stupid skinny jeans before he gives up and exasperatedly tells Seth to do it himself.

It takes Seth a full five minutes to pull off his skinny jeans; Dean counts.

“Fuck those things,” Dean grumbles as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of Seth’s briefs and tugs, pulling them down to expose Seth’s cock. He’s half-hard already, and Dean smirks at him.

“So fuckin’ easy, Sethie. My little whore.” His words make Seth’s cock twitch, and Dean’s smirk fails to fade. “You like that, huh? Like bein’ my whore? I’m gonna see if you’re a good whore. If ya do everythin’ I ask… then you’re a good whore. Understand?”

Seth nods, mumbling something incoherent. Dean continues to pull Seth’s briefs down his legs, eventually pulling them off entirely and depositing them on the floor. He shifts his position so that he’s straddling Seth’s knees, tapping a rhythm only he can hear on Seth’s thighs.

“Ya got some real pretty lips. You know, I think they’d look even better around my dick. What do ya think? Should I let ya suck my dick? You wanna suck my dick?”

Seth nods again, apparently incapable of forming words, but that’s not gonna fly.

“Say it,” Dean encourages. “Say you wanna suck my dick, Sethie. Just like the first time.”

He thinks he sees a flash of defiance in Seth’s eyes, but it disappears as quickly as it appears. The kid’s being more obedient than usual; Dean’s real proud of him.

“I wanna suck your dick, Dean,” Seth mumbles. Dean can already see lust swirling around in Seth’s pretty brown eyes. He looks real nice like this; splayed out naked underneath Dean, doing whatever he’s asked to do. He’s half-convinced that Seth would murder someone in this state if he asked him to.

“Ask nicely.”

This time, he hears a hint of desperation in Seth’s voice, like he’s dying to suck Dean’s dick, to taste it and have it in his mouth.

That’s a nice thought.

“Let me suck your dick, please, Dean. I’ll be so good for you, please.”

Dean actually smiles a little bit. “You got it, Sethie. I couldn’t say no to such a pretty face.” He pulls his boxer briefs down and tugs them off, tossing them onto the floor haphazardly, before he crawls up Seth’s body to his chest. He’s practically sitting on Seth’s chest, reaching over his head to change the angle of the pillow (and, therefore, Seth’s head), not wanting Seth to literally choke on his dick. “Did ya like suckin’ my dick last time? Cause I think you were just made for suckin’ dick… after all, you look so much better when you can’t run your fuckin’ mouth.”

Seth makes a noise akin to a whimper, and Dean chuckles. “See, I just knew it. You loved it so much you’re comin’ back for more. What would they say if they knew, huh? If they knew how you’re my greedy little whore, always takin’ and takin’ and takin’ everythin’, but it’s never enough for ya; you just want more. If they knew that you came to my door just to get fucked by the one person ya can’t stand, cause he’s the only one who knows how to fuck ya right.”

He takes his cock in one hand and pushes his hips forward a little, rubbing the head of his cock against Seth’s lips. “But you ain’t gotta worry, princess… cause I won’t tell anyone,” he murmurs. “Now open your mouth ‘n suck my dick like ya wanted to.”

Seth opens his mouth, and Dean uses his free hand to still Seth so he can push into his mouth. He watches Seth carefully, making sure he doesn’t choke, murmuring repeatedly for him to breathe, until he’s all the way in and Seth’s eyes are watering and it’s fucking beautiful.

“God, you look so fuckin’ hot with your mouth stuffed full of my dick,” Dean breathes, almost in awe. “I can’t wait until I get to see ya with your ass stuffed full of my dick.” That elicits a moan from Seth, and the vibrations hit Dean’s cock just right, resulting in a pleasurable tingling up his spine.

He decides to take initiative, starting a rhythm of slowly pulling out and then slowly pushing back in. He enjoys the sight of Seth’s lips stretched wide around his cock, spit collecting at the corners and starting to trail down his chin. He picks up the pace until he’s essentially fucking Seth’s face, and Seth makes little shuddery gasping noises every time he pulls out, like he’s dying for air, that are silenced whenever he pushes back in.

“Fuck,” Dean groans, grabbing at Seth’s hair with both hands and twisting his fingers in it, giving himself better leverage and allowing him to increase the force of his thrusts. “M’ close, princess, gonna come all over that pretty face of yours,” he forces out. “Gonna mark you up, so you never forget who you belong to.” Seth moans his assent, and the image that pops into Dean’s head of Seth with his face covered in his cum is too much for Dean. He forces himself to pull all the way out of Seth’s mouth, jerks himself a few times, and with a low groan, he does as promised and comes on Seth’s face. Seth closes his eyes just in time, and Dean’s cum hits his cheeks, his forehead, and his lips, leaving a sticky trail in its wake.

Dean looks down just in time to see Seth’s tongue poke out of his mouth and lick at his lips, cleaning them of his cum. “Fuck,” he murmurs, and leans down to kiss Seth, licking the cum out of his mouth, but Seth surges forward and licks it back out of Dean’s mouth, and they share it for a while, until Dean’s forced to pull away to breathe.

“Goddamn, you look hot,” Dean says. It’s true; just looking at Seth makes his cock twitch with renewed interest, even though he just came no more than a couple minutes before. “You’re so fuckin’ good, Sethie. You suck dick like a fuckin’ pro.”

Seth actually smiles at that. “So, when are you gonna fuck me?” he asks, and Dean has to bite back an impressed groan at how raw and fucked-out Seth’s voice sounds. He takes a perverse pride in knowing he did that to Seth; he made him sound like that.

“Patience, Sethie,” he says, cupping Seth’s cheek with one hand and rubbing his cum into his skin with his thumb (because he can, obviously). “I’m gonna fuck ya real soon, I promise.”

“You fucking better. My dick’s getting lonely,” he hears Seth murmur.

“Seth,” Dean warns. “Don’t make me punish ya.”

That shuts Seth up, and Dean throws a leg over Seth’s side so he’s no longer straddling him. He moves down, closer to the foot of the bed, and wedges himself in between Seth’s legs, on his knees on the bed.

“You ever been eaten out?” he asks.

“No,” is Seth’s response, tinged with curiosity. Dean holds back a smirk.

“Well, after this, you’ll be able to say yes to that,” he says, pushing Seth’s legs up until they’re drawn to his chest. He admires Seth’s ass for a few seconds, smacking it lightly, watching the skin redden and silently enjoying Seth’s little yelp. He finally puts one hand on each of Seth’s ass cheeks and spreads them, exposing his hole. Dean leans down and drags his tongue across it, and that one movement is worth it just from the gasp Seth makes and the way his body twitches, the way his cock jerks, smacking against his stomach lightly.

“Relax, baby,” Dean murmurs. “’S gonna feel real good. Try not to come all over yourself yet.”

He leans down and repeats the action, lapping at Seth’s hole, and it makes Seth moan brokenly, Dean nearly having to pin him down just to keep him from squirming out of Dean’s grasp.

Once Dean decides the outside is good and wet, he focuses his attention on the inside, pressing the tip of his tongue into Seth’s hole.

 _“Dean,”_ Seth gasps out, and Dean’s forced to put even more weight on him to keep him from getting away. He stops his actions momentarily to reassure Seth.

“’S okay, baby. ‘M here. I got you.” He refocuses his attention on Seth’s hole, pressing the tip of his tongue into Seth’s hole and working it in, just a little, just enough to be able to lick at him, getting him good and ready for when Dean does fuck him.

He fucks him with his tongue for a while, in and out, until Seth is a whimpering mess and Dean’s convinced that Seth will fall apart if he doesn’t get his dick in him soon.

He pulls away and grabs the bottle of lube from the nightstand, pouring some on his index finger and slowly, ever-so-slowly, pushing his finger into Seth. Seth moans and tries to push back, forcing Dean’s finger deeper in him. Dean just smirks as he coats his middle finger with more lube and pushes that into him, too, before spreading those fingers apart, stretching him. He fucks him with those two fingers for a little bit, trying to see if Seth’s ready for his dick, and chooses to add a third lube-coated finger. By this time, Seth is writhing beneath him, apparently not having been touched like this in a _long_ time, and Dean swears he sees a tear or two trailing down the side of Seth’s face and being soaked up by his hair. From overstimulation, Dean assumes.

“You want me to fuck you? Huh, Sethie? Want me to fill you up with my dick, pound you ‘til you’re so fuckin’ sore you can’t walk tomorrow, fill you up with my cum?”

“God, yes, _please_ ,” Seth begs, and he’s been so good so far that Dean can’t deny him such a simple request. He pulls his fingers out and wipes them off on Seth’s chest, and then grabs a condom from the nightstand. He tears open the little square and pulls the condom out, rolling it onto his dick, which had hardened again after he came as a result of the absolutely sinful noises Seth made. He grasps Seth’s hips and moves a little bit closer, lining up his cock with Seth’s hole.

“You ready, princess?” he asks, and Seth nods, evidently on the verge of desperation again.

“Yes, Dean, please, please fuck me—“ His pleading is cut off as Dean slowly pushes into him, giving him minimal time to adjust to the slight burn and stretch of being filled so deeply, so completely.

Dean pushes in until his hips are flush with Seth’s ass, and then stills, finally granting Seth time to adjust. “How are ya likin’ it, princess?” he asks, voice noticeably strained. Seth’s ass just feels so damn good around his cock; he doesn’t know how long he’ll last.

“I feel so full,” Seth responds, and his voice sounds slurred, like he’s drunk with lust. “But ‘s good. So good, Dean.” His eyes have opened, and now they meet Dean’s eyes, and he can clearly see the haze of lust there.

Dean smiles, a confident smile. “You’re doin’ real good for me, Sethie. So fuckin’ good. Best fuck I’ve ever had, I think,” he says, slowly pulling out of Seth until only the head of his cock remains in him, and then pushing back in until his hips meet Seth’s ass again, starting up a slow rhythm like that. Seth moans with every push and pull of Dean’s cock, and his own neglected cock is tapping against his stomach, dribbling pre-cum.

Dean reaches down and wraps a hand around Seth’s cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts. Seth moans wantonly, trying to push up into Dean’s hand, and Dean strokes a little harder, thrusts a little faster. He shifts the angle of his thrusts slightly, pushing Seth’s legs a little higher with his free hand, and he can tell by the shaky moan Seth lets out when he pushes in after he shifts his body that he found Seth’s prostate. Trying to get Seth to come before he does, he speeds up his strokes. Dean’s sure Seth is close; his cock is now steadily dribbling pre-cum, and he uses it to slick his strokes.

“You gonna come, baby? You gonna come from bein’ stuffed full of my dick?”

Seth pants out something that sounds like an affirmative, and Dean grins, pushes in hard enough on his next thrust that his hips collide with Seth’s ass with what sounds like a slap.

“No one else can do this to ya. No one else can make you feel the way I can, no one else can fuck you the way I can. You’re never gonna want anyone else, ‘cause all you’ll be able to think about when you want somebody to fuck ya is how good I fucked ya, and you’re always gonna come back to me, beggin’ for more.”

Seth whimpers, and Dean speeds up his thrusts, the sound of skin slapping against skin rhythmic now, purposeful.

“You’re gonna come for me,” he says, knowing Seth has to be close, knowing he himself is definitely close, but wanting to make Seth come first. “You’re gonna think about how good it feels to be stuffed full, how good it feels for me to fuckin’ use you like this, and you’re gonna come. Cause you’re my fuckin’ whore, that’s how it’s always gonna be, Seth, you’re always gonna be my whore, wanting to do everything and anything for me, you’re gonna devote your whole fuckin’ life to me.”

Seth actually _sobs_ , arching his back as he comes, his cum splattering across his chest and even reaching his neck. His ass tightens around Dean’s cock when he comes, and Dean pushes in one last time and muffles his groan in Seth’s chest as he comes, his cum pulsing out and filling the condom.

He finally detangles himself from Seth and pulls out slowly, pulling the used condom off of his softening cock and tying the end of it before throwing it in the trash can by the bed.

He crawls up the bed and collapses next to Seth, finding it very difficult to move, his limbs feeling like jelly.

“Holy fuckin’ shit.”


	26. Chapter 26

Seth smiles at him, a sort of dazed, sleepy smile. Right now, just after being fucked, there’s no trace of his hard edges anywhere – none of the brash, overconfident personality he displays in the ring and sometimes in the locker room.

Just a sated, happy Seth.

Dean likes knowing there’s a softness to Seth somewhere, even if it only comes out after he’s been thoroughly fucked.

“Thank you,” Seth whispers, trying to curl his body closer to Dean’s, and Dean lets him, places a hand on his hip as Seth rolls onto his side, rolling onto his side as well so they face each other.

“’S nothin’,” Dean says easily. “I’d do it for ya anytime.”

That same soft smile reappears on Seth’s face, and Dean thinks it almost makes Seth glow.

“’M sleepy,” Seth whines.

“Then sleep. I’m not kickin’ ya out. …Yet.” He hopes Seth didn’t catch his slip, the way he has to add ‘yet’ as an afterthought.

Seth’s eyes flutter shut, and Dean just stares at him for a while, taking in every part of his pretty face, watching as his breaths slowly even out as he falls asleep.

Once Dean’s sure he’s sound asleep, he scoots closer to Seth and places the hand that was on his hip in his hair, planting a kiss to his sticky forehead. “I really hope you’re asleep,” Dean mumbles. “Cause if you’re not, this is gonna be real fuckin’ awkward later. So, assumin’ you’re asleep… I kind of don’t really hate you as much as I used to, either. You’ve grown on me, Sethie,” he admits. “But I hate you for growin’ on me. You fuckin’ asshole, with your stupid pretty face and your stupid nice ass. Who gave you the fuckin’ right to exist?”

He doesn’t get an answer to that question, of course. But he wasn’t really expecting an answer.

“Fuck you for existin’. Fuck you for bein’ the one to get in my head. Fuck you for havin’ such a pretty face.”

He almost expects an answer now, for Seth to wake up and say ‘what the fuck are you doing, don’t touch me, get away from me’, but there’s nothing, no reaction. Just the steady sound of Seth breathing as he sleeps.

Dean sighs and pulls away, rolling off of the bed and standing on shaky legs. Might as well clean himself up, he thinks.

He misses the gaze that follows him as he heads into the bathroom.

* * *

He takes a shower and stands under the spray for a good ten minutes longer than he should, just trying to clear his mind and figure out what the hell just happened.

Seth asked him to fuck him – but _why?_ Why the hell would he come to Dean’s apartment just to ask to be fucked? And why would he want Dean to fuck him if they’re not both drunk off their ass and unable to remember it the next day?

He actually feels guilty. He’d promised himself he would stay away from Roman and Seth, so he wouldn’t ruin them, and look at what he’s just done.

He should’ve just said no. Should’ve turned Seth away. He’s pretty sure there will always be someone else who will gladly fuck Seth.

He gets out of the shower once he decides he’s done enough thinking and made himself feel bad enough, wrapping a towel around his waist and running a washcloth under the tap of the sink to help clean Seth off.

When he leaves the bathroom and returns to the bedroom, Seth is still sound asleep, though he’s shifted position, some of his hair falling down and covering his face.

Dean almost feels _affection_ when he looks at Seth, which is terrifying, so he tries his best to ignore it. Instead, he gently cleans Seth up as best as he can without waking him, dragging the damp washcloth over his skin slowly and carefully. Seth shifts slightly, and Dean freezes, thinking Seth’s going to wake up, but instead he just resettles himself, mumbling something that sounds vaguely like Dean’s name. He breathes a sigh of relief when Seth settles down, not wanting to have to explain to him that he was actually _helping_ Seth for once, instead of tossing his clothes at him and kicking him out, like he should’ve.

He’s getting soft, and it’s really pissing him off.

Once he’s done cleaning Seth up, he puts the washcloth back in the bathroom, deciding he’ll clean it later. He then crawls back into bed, lying down beside Seth, who seems to subconsciously notice he’s back and moves closer to him. For some reason, or just because he can, Dean reaches out and takes Seth’s hand, intertwining their fingers.

He marvels silently at how right it looks to have Seth in his bed, like he belongs there (even though Dean knows deep down it’s wrong). Then he closes his eyes, and he ends up falling asleep, right there, next to Seth.

* * *

He wakes up a few hours later, and it takes him a minute to remember what conspired earlier. He immediately assumes Seth’s left already; there’s no reason to stay, nothing good for him here. But when he reaches his arm out to see if he’s right, he comes in contact with something warm and solid. Definitely not his bed.

He lifts his head, only to see Seth staring down at him with a flicker of amusement on his face. “Hey,” Seth says.

Dean frowns, scrubs a hand over his face; he feels like shit. “What’re you still doin’ here?” he asks. “Thought you were gonna leave. How come you didn’t?”

Seth shrugs, and Dean, for some reason, gets the distinct feeling that Seth’s hiding something. But he doesn’t feel like nosing into Seth’s business right this very second, so he’ll leave it; for now. “I just didn’t.”

“Got a soft spot for me, Rollins?” Dean asks, smirking, trying to pull himself up to a sitting position. Seth smacks his arm, nearly making Dean topple off the bed.

“Shut up.”

Seth’s sitting up with his back against the headboard, and Dean mimics his position, laying his head on Seth’s shoulder just to spite him. To his surprise, Seth doesn’t seem to mind.

“What time is it?” Dean asks, peering at the phone in Seth’s hands, trying to read the time on the screen, but failing.

“Uh, 11:55,” Seth says, glancing down at the screen of his phone.

So it has been a few hours. Dean’s gonna kill Seth if Seth took any pictures of him sleeping.

For the next five minutes or so, they stay like that, Seth scrolling through whatever on his stupid fancy smartphone and Dean watching him idly, not really caring about whatever’s on the screen.

But when the time on Seth’s phone says that it’s midnight, Seth does something that again nearly makes Dean topple off the bed, this time in surprise.

Seth turns his head and kisses him. It’s a very slow, gentle kiss, and Dean can feel the heat in it, the good kind of heat.

That’s how he starts off 2012, with his lips on Seth Rollins’ lips, matching Seth’s pace with a gentleness Dean himself didn’t know he was capable of.

And when they separate, Seth’s phone says that it’s 12:01, and Seth smiles at him, all warm and easy like one of Roman’s trademark smiles, and Dean doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he smiles back.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell, for all he knows, maybe Roman was lying about being straight and maybe Seth was lying about having a girlfriend and maybe Roman and Seth are dating or something.  
> And they’ve left him out in the cold. How rude.

Things start to get weird after that.

In the first taping of the new year, Seth doesn’t have a match, and he’s nowhere to be found when Dean arrives.

Dean actually kinda misses him.

Dean wasn’t required to show up; he doesn’t have a match, doesn’t have a promo to do, but Roman has a match, and he needs to sort things out with Roman.

So he finds himself in the locker room, looking for Roman.

He finds Roman fairly easily; Roman’s by his locker, getting ready for his match, and he’s not hard to spot.

Dean approaches him, acting casual, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket. “Hey, Rome,” he greets him.

Roman just glances at him before returning to whatever it is he’s doing (Dean doesn’t really care what he’s doing). Dean frowns, wanting a verbal response.

“Rome?”

Nothing. Has the guy been taking lessons from Seth or something?

He can just imagine them, talking in the locker room, discussing the best way to avoid and/or irritate Dean. ‘Give him the cold shoulder. He loves that.’

That _would_ explain why he’s seen Seth and Roman hovering around each other so much.

Hell, for all he knows, maybe Roman was lying about being straight and maybe Seth was lying about having a girlfriend and maybe Roman and Seth are dating or something.

And they’ve left him out in the cold. How rude.

“Ro _man_ ,” Dean says, purposely dragging out the last syllable, trying his hardest to get Roman’s attention.

He fails, again.

“What the fuck do I have to do? Do I have to get naked? I’ll get naked right here if it means you’ll fuckin’ look at me,” Dean snaps, exasperated.

That apparently makes Roman give in, because Roman stops, looks at him with a sigh. “What do you want, Dean?”

“I wanna know why you’re bein’ so cold. Ever since whatever that was that happened at your apartment, you’ve been actin’ like a fuckin’ bitch. I _saved_ you from gettin’ involved with me, when gettin’ involved with me is possibly the worst life choice you could _ever_ make, and you’ve been actin’ like it’s a fuckin’ crime. What the fuck is your deal? Why can’t you accept the fact that I did you a fuckin’ favor?”

Dean thinks he sees something soften in Roman’s eyes, but then again, it could just be a trick of the light. He’s never been able to read Roman very well, if at all.

Maybe Roman’s just really good at putting on a front, just like he is.

“You really think that someone deciding to show you affection, deciding to give you what you deserve, is a bad life choice?” Roman asks, his voice soft, but tinged with incredulousness. Dean doesn’t understand what’s so incredulous about it. What Roman said is much more worthy of incredulousness.

Dean actually _laughs_ , because the thought of him, Dean Ambrose, deserving affection, is the funniest joke he’s ever heard.

“I deserve affection? Roman, what I deserve is a throne in this ‘Hell’ everyone seems to believe in. So don’t give me that bullshit, alright? You and I both know that it’s a good thing I stopped ya before you lost your fuckin’ mind and went too far.”

“Dean, I don’t—“

“Shut the fuck up. I’m talkin’ here.”

Roman closes his mouth, that familiar, infuriating unreadable expression on his face.

“You’re an asshole. Just like Seth. Both of you are tryin’ to play me with your affection bullshit, like either of you actually give a damn about me. I know it’s a ploy. And you’re probably just pissed cause I called you out on it, cause I stopped you before you could get too far.”

He’s about to add something along the lines of ‘even though you’re really hot and I’d let you fuck me in 0.2 seconds, I won’t fall for your bullshit anymore,’ but he’s interrupted by Roman shoving him into the wall, hard enough that the back of his head bangs against it and he feels red-hot pain blossoming, and forcefully kissing him.

He’s never going to admit it out loud, but he actually likes it. Likes this Roman. Likes to know Roman’s got a rough edge, too.

The kiss is rough and rushed, unlike their usual kisses, and the difference gets Dean half-hard in his pants. He moans into the kiss when Roman bites his lip, and he thinks he might end up fully hard when one of Roman’s hands moves up to his throat and squeezes, just slightly, enough to make his cock twitch with renewed interest.

He’s disappointed when Roman pulls away, even though he’s been needing air for a while now, quite possibly on the verge of passing out.

“Don’t you _ever_ ,” Roman growls, and Dean can clearly see the anger in his eyes, and it’s kinda turning him on even more, “tell me that what I feel for you is bullshit. It never has been, and it never will be, do you understand me?”

The way Roman words it makes his heart seize, feeling like Roman’s hand is around his throat again, but Dean moves his own hand up to his neck and Roman’s hand isn’t there, but he’s not quite sure.

He doesn’t think he can manage words right now, so he just nods, and Roman nods his approval. “Good,” he says, and lets go of him. Dean struggles to keep his balance without the weight of Roman to hold him up. “I’ve got a match. I’ll see you later.”

Roman turns to leave, and is almost halfway out the door when Dean finally remembers how to use words again. “Wait,” he says, and Roman stops, but doesn’t turn to face him. “I thought you were straight.”

“Guess I’m not,” is the response Roman tosses over his shoulder. He leaves without another word, and Dean doesn’t try to stop him.

It’s at that moment when Dean’s legs decide to give out from under him, and he falls to the floor, groaning as his head throbs with a dull pain and his ass starts to hurt from hitting the concrete.

Fuck Roman Reigns and his goddamn Greek god ass, he thinks.

Fuck him.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seth’s the only one right now who’s like that, who can infuriate Dean just as much as Dean hopefully infuriates him, who can pull just as hard as Dean can push.  
> And it’ll be a lot less fun around here if he’s no longer around to push.

The week after that, Seth still isn’t scheduled for a match, and so he’s still a no-show, and that kind of worries Dean a little bit.

He knows what it means around here when you don’t have a match for several weeks; it means you’re being considered, discussed. They pick you apart, decide what they want to do with you, decide if they want to fire you or if they want to bump you up to the main roster.

Dean doesn’t think he could accept Seth being fired or being moved up to the main roster; he needs someone around here to bother, who will push back just as hard, who won’t ignore him but also won’t give in.

Seth’s the only one right now who’s like that, who can infuriate Dean just as much as Dean hopefully infuriates him, who can pull just as hard as Dean can push.

And it’ll be a lot less fun around here if he’s no longer around to push.

Dean tries to shake his worry off as he waits backstage, trying to lose himself in Roman. Some genius (and he means that in the nicest, sincerest, non-sarcastic way) decided to pit Roman and Dean against Leo Kruger and Damien Sandow, and Dean’s almost giddy about it because he _finally_ gets to be in the ring with Roman.

That’s how he ends up here, standing backstage with Roman, waiting to be announced. Kruger and Sandow are nowhere to be found, and Dean takes advantage of that, pressing Roman into the wall and kissing him. He needs an outlet for his excess energy, and he puts it into the kiss until he feels relaxed, and Roman’s kissing him back (obviously; he’s a damn good kisser, who wouldn’t reciprocate his kisses?) and their kisses become slow, languid.

They make him crave more, and he _wants;_ he doesn’t know what he wants, but he knows he wants, and he feels an interested stirring in the pit of his stomach, a burning heat, and he _wants,_ and he crowds in closer to Roman but then the match is being announced and he has to pull away and pretend like he’s not turned on.

He gives Roman a nonchalant grin before he turns and pushes his way through the curtain, smug smirk planted firmly on his face once he enters. He storms out like he owns the place (he basically does, anyway), and he hears Roman following not far behind.

Dean looks straight into the camera and gestures at Roman like he’s the best thing the company’s got right now, and aside from himself it may be true. He’s seen more than one of Roman’s matches; the guy’s skilled, knows what the fuck he’s doing, and, rumor has it, hails from a legendary wrestling family. Dean has never been more certain of anything than the idea that Roman Reigns will end up on the main roster and be a fuckin’ star within a year or two.

He’ll enjoy Roman while he’s got him.

He gets into the ring, still acting all nonchalant and confident, pacing around the ring in a circle like he always does, but he doesn’t miss the heated gaze Roman gives him as Roman ducks under the top rope to get into the ring.

As undeniably hot as Roman is, Dean won’t let Roman distract him.

Roman approaches him, and Dean backs into the corner, holding a hand up as if he’s telling him to stop. Roman stops, one eyebrow lifting, and Dean smirks and shrugs.

“Just wanted to see what ya would do,” he calls. Roman looks at him and shakes his head, in more of an ‘I can’t believe this guy’ fashion than in an irritated manner.

Sandow comes out then, and spends more time babbling than he does anything else, bragging about how he’s the FCW 15 Champion, and Dean couldn’t give a fuck, but he wants to deck the guy and tell him ‘shut the fuck up and get in the ring or leave.’ Dean almost lunges for Sandow, and even though it’s fairly dark with all the lights focused on Sandow, he feels a hand on his chest, and he looks around and he can dimly see Roman shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

He tries to wait until the match officially starts to wreak havoc, not for Sandow’s sake or Kruger’s sake, but for Roman.

Just before the match officially starts, they have a tiny argument over who should start off the match. Dean slaps Roman’s chest, says, “I got this, Rome,” but as he looks away to take his jacket off, Roman steps in front of him. When he tosses his jacket over the top rope and looks back toward the ring to find Roman in front of him, he frowns and taps Roman on the shoulder.

“I said I got this,” he huffs, and moves to stand in front of Roman. He can almost feel Roman’s eyes on his ass for a second before the other man apparently decides he doesn’t trust Dean’s declaration that he’s got this and moves in front of Dean, _again._

Dean’s starting to get a little irritated, but he pretends not to be. “What, you don’t trust me? C’mon, lemme at them. It’ll be easy,” he insists, moving in front of Roman. The referee is getting impatient, and so is Dean, because he really just wants to wrestle already, and if Roman would just trust him this match could’ve already started.

“No, it’ll be easier if you let _me_ at them,” Roman says, starting to move in front of Dean again, but Dean interprets his words as a challenge, and he plants himself directly in front of Roman, getting in his face.

“You think I’m not good enough? Huh? Is that what this is? Not good enough to be Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome’s tag team partner?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Sure as hell feels like it,” Dean huffs, and Roman’s about to say something else when Sandow runs at them, apparently tired of their arguing.

They deck him, of course.

And then their argument starts again.

“You let me at him. I can get the job done,” Roman says, his voice stern, an undertone telling Dean not to argue with him, but it’s not like Dean to obey someone else.

“Are you trying to say I can’t?” Dean asks, and Kruger tries to run at them, too, but they lunge for him like they’re gonna give him a punch that matches Sandow’s, and he stops, holds his hands up in surrender.

But Dean’s tired of their shit, and when Kruger turns, Dean clotheslines him over the top rope.

Then Sandow attacks him out of seemingly nowhere, and that’s when the match officially starts, and Roman lets him take the lead (although Dean just knows it’s with a grudge).

Sandow slaps at him, but once he’s off of Dean, Dean mocks him, just like he would with Seth.

“That’s all you got, huh?” he shouts. “You can do better than that, c’mon.” He doesn’t get the same reaction he does with Seth, but he takes advantage of Sandow’s failure to react properly by throwing him into the turnbuckle and then throwing him into the opposite turnbuckle, where Roman is, and he feels a light slap to his back that’s Roman tagging himself in.

Roman kicks at Sandow a few times, and then Dean tags himself in and does the same thing, and they do that for a few rounds. Dean’s in the ring when Sandow starts trying to get away, and he tags Roman in and goes after Sandow, forcing him to stay in the middle of the ring until Roman can get there.

Dean stands on the apron for a while, kind of distracted from paying any _real_ attention to what's going on in the ring by how hot Roman looks when he’s wrestling (like, when the fuck did he get so hot?), until Roman makes a mistake and ends up smashing his face into a turnbuckle and Kruger tries to pin him and gets a near-fall that’s way too close to a win for comfort.

When Kruger gets Roman in a submission hold that looks pretty damn painful, Dean starts shouting at him, trying to be encouraging. “C’mon, Rome!” he shouts, forgetting that in the ring, Roman isn’t Roman, but Leakee. “Kick his ass!” It seems to do the trick, as Roman is able to haul himself to his feet and land a few solid blows to Kruger’s abdomen.

It does the trick for about 0.5 seconds, and then Kruger and Sandow start ganging up on Roman, driving him into their corner, punching him squarely in the abdomen and making him cry out in pain, and Kruger tags Sandow in and proceeds to get some cheap shots in behind the referee’s back.

It infuriates Dean, because cheap shots are only okay when he’s the one handing them out.

Sandow smashes Roman’s face in the turnbuckle again and then drags him to the center of the ring. Dean reaches out, thinking Roman will be able to get close enough to tag him in, but Sandow pulls him back so Roman can’t tag him in, and Dean’s really pissed because all he wants to do is get in there and get at them.

He thinks he might hate these two more than he hates Seth.

And that’s saying something.

When Dean vocalizes his frustration, Sandow knocks him off the apron and onto the mats outside the ring.

His anger reaches a boiling point as he climbs back up onto the apron, and he begs the referee to let him in, but the referee refuses. So he starts angrily pacing the length of the apron, mentally commanding Roman to get his ass into their corner and tag him in so that he can kick some asses.

Sandow tags Kruger back in, and Kruger starts trying to put Roman in some weird submission hold. Roman reaches for Dean, trying desperately to get to their corner, but Sandow tries to interfere and Dean’s forced to shoulder him over the ropes and onto the mats outside the ring.

Roman’s still desperately trying to get to him, and Dean reaches out, but Kruger pulls him back in, until Kruger makes the mistake of kneeing Roman in the back and sending him straight into the corner. Dean slaps at Roman’s leg as Roman rolls out of the ring under the bottom rope, hoping that counts as a tag, and gets in the ring quickly.

He’s livid.

It’s never a good idea to be in the ring with a livid Dean Ambrose.

Dean starts swinging at Kruger, knocking him down, landing another blow every time he tries to get up. He tries to throw him over the top rope, but Kruger bounces off the ropes, and Dean meets him with a clothesline that knocks him down again.

He’s feeling _good;_ being in the ring is the only occasion he really feels alive, and he’s feeling alive right now, like every cell in his body is hell-bent on one thing and one thing only: winning this match.

Dean throws Kruger into the corner, knocks his head against the other man’s until Kruger’s forced down on his ass in the corner, then stomps on him a few times, like he’s trash.

Dean’s about to drag Kruger into the center of the ring and go for a pin when Sandow tries to interfere, and Sandow somehow gets him pinned up against the ropes with his arms behind his back, and Kruger rushes at him, but Dean gets out of the way just in time to see Kruger go flying headfirst into Sandow. Things look like they might take a turn for the worse for him when all of a sudden, Roman’s back, and he tags himself in with a slap to Dean’s back.

Roman goes for his finisher (that Dean doesn’t know the name of, but it looks really fuckin’ cool, in his opinion), while Dean paces one side of the ring to make sure Sandow doesn’t interfere. Sandow tries to, which is entirely expected, and Dean knees him in the face as Roman pins Kruger.

They get the victory, and even though Dean wasn’t the one who pinned, the win tastes as good as it would’ve if he’d been the one to pin Kruger.

As the referee raises their arms, Dean looks at Roman and grins, and Roman returns it.

He leaves the ring not long after the referee lets go of them (although Roman stays in there a little longer to show off; he’s like Seth 2.0. Dean actually isn’t sure which one of them is the bigger showoff).

Dean starts to head backstage when he gets this feeling, this weird feeling, like there’s something he should be looking out for.

Something that’s not right.

He stops, looks around, inspecting the audience closely.

He doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary until – is that Seth?

He squints, and – yes, that’s Seth.

Sitting in the audience, his hoodie over his head so no one can tell it’s him unless they look really hard.

Seth’s eyes meet his, and for some reason, Seth’s actually smiling.

Dean doesn’t know what the hell he’s smiling about, but it’s a little unsettling, seeing Seth smile so much. He’s seen enough of Seth’s smile the past few weeks to last him a lifetime, when he’s much more used to Seth scowling, or even having a resting bitch face, but not smiling.

As Dean finally forces himself to head backstage, he wonders if it would be appropriate to punch that smile off Seth’s face.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t think ya really want me to answer that.”  
> “That’s true, I don’t. Because you’re probably going to suggest something disgusting and perverted. Like you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW content in this chapter, specifically some dirty talk, orgasm delay, a secret handjob, and a relatively mild mention of crossdressing kink. If you're uncomfortable with any of these things, please skip this chapter.

Surprisingly, Seth doesn’t appear in the locker room after the match, so Dean doesn’t get a chance to talk to him until the week after that, when he’s got a match against Jinder Mahal.

Dean doesn’t have a match, but he shows up anyway. Roman doesn’t have a match either, but he doesn’t show up, which kinda disappoints Dean. He needs Roman and Seth to be in the same place at the same time again, because he really wants to shove Seth and Roman in a closet together, lock the door, and see what happens.

Just because.

When Dean searches the locker room for Seth once he arrives, he finds Seth by his locker, apparently stretching.

Although it really just looks like he’s bent over and sticking his ass in the air like an invitation.

Because he gives no fucks, he slaps Seth’s ass. Seth yelps and straightens immediately, whirling around and fixing a glare on Dean. Dean just grins, unashamed.

“Hey, princess,” he says. Seth just groans in response, an irritated groan, like Dean’s the last person he wants to see right now. “Aw, c’mon, Sethie, don’t be like that. Don’t ya wanna see me?”

“Not really,” Seth mutters, turning his back on Dean.

“Why not? I thought we were somethin’ special. That night was outright _magical_. Don’t ya want another one?” He’s outright mocking Seth now, just because he can. The one thing that will never get old is how much he can irritate Seth.

“Shut up, Dean. Don’t you have someone else to bother?”

“Sadly, no. Romie ain’t here, so ‘s just you I got to bother. But you should feel special. Dean Ambrose chose you to bother, out of all the people he could prob’ly bother.”

Seth turns back to face him, granting him a decidedly unimpressed stare that reminds him vaguely of Roman’s.

He’s now even more suspicious of the two of them.

“What do I have to do to get you to shut up?” Seth asks. Dean grins again and waggles his eyebrows comically.

“I don’t think ya really want me to answer that.”

“That’s true, I don’t. Because you’re probably going to suggest something disgusting and perverted. Like you.”

“You’re callin’ _me_ perverted when you’re the one who gets off on wearin’ panties? Real logical, Sethie.”

“Shut _up,_ ” Seth hisses, a red flush coming to his cheeks. Dean finds it cute how paranoid he is.

“S’okay, I don’t judge. Hell, if I wasn’t broke I’d go to Victoria’s Secret and buy ya some cute panties. When’s your birthday? Cause I just got an idea for a great present.” This time, his grin is lecherous.

“I swear to God, if you don’t shut up _right now_ , I am going to shove—“ Dean interrupts Seth by slapping his hand over his mouth. Like an amateur, Seth doesn’t try to lick him or bite him.

Which is a terrible mistake on Seth’s part.

“Shh,” Dean says, bringing the index finger of his free hand up to his own lips in a shushing gesture. “You don’t have to tell me twice. I know what ya want and I’m gonna get ya what you want. ‘N you’re gonna like it, cause I know ya, princess. Now c’mere,” he says, taking his hand off Seth’s mouth; to his surprise, Seth doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look shocked or disgusted, just mildly irritated. “I wanna give ya a good luck kiss.”

Seth doesn’t move, so Dean takes initiative and moves closer, pressing his lips to Seth’s. The other man reacts, but he doesn’t push Dean away; he grabs at Dean’s jaw and tries to bring them closer together, and if Dean wasn’t engrossed in the kiss, he’d be smirking, because he knows he’s tapped into Seth’s hidden side.

He licks into Seth’s mouth and Seth makes a noise that sounds a little like a whimper, and Dean decides to stop before this goes too far, pulling away and resting his forehead against Seth’s.

“I’m gonna be watchin’, okay? You go out there and win. ‘Cause I could win with my hands tied behind my back and a blindfold over my eyes. So you better win. And maybe, just maybe, if you win… I’ll give ya a little treat afterward. But ya don’t get a treat if you don’t win, understand?”

Seth closes his eyes, inhales deeply, and nods. Dean straightens himself, but not before he presses a quick kiss to Seth’s forehead and murmurs ‘kick some ass, Sethie,’ into his hair, and he’s disgusted by how soft he’s getting for this fuckin’ asshole.

* * *

Seth wins the match easily, knocks the guy out cold with _Avada Kedavra,_ and Dean’s actually kind of, sort of, impressed.

He refuses to acknowledge it, though, and pretends that he’s not impressed as he waits in the hallway backstage for Seth.

Seth comes to him almost immediately, skin soaked with sweat and his brown hair loose and frizzy, and he’s kind of beautiful like that, but Dean will never, _ever_ admit it.

Ever.

“Hey, princess,” Dean greets him, and he actually feels some kind of warmth in his chest when he looks at Seth, which is really fuckin’ weird and really not okay, but he chooses not to focus on it right now. “You did good. I’m real proud of ya.”

Seth is silent, just tilts his head at him, and Dean can see the thinly veiled need in his eyes.

Dean knows just what he needs, and he fully intends to give it to him.

“You want your treat?”

Seth nods, and Dean grins. He wraps an arm around Seth to pull him along down the hallway as Dean searches for a room that might be empty or a closet, anything to give them some privacy. Finally, he finds a door that isn’t locked, and it reveals a small, dark closet.

Good enough for him.

“C’mon, Sethie,” he says, gently pushing Seth inside before following him, then closing the door behind the both of them. It’s a little hard to see, even as his eyes start to adjust to the darkness, but it won’t impede him at all.

“C’mere,” he says, and Seth comes to him, so obedient when he’s needy. Dean smiles, strokes a hand down Seth’s chest before he leans in to kiss him. It’s a heated kiss, slow and languid but full of need and want. As Dean kisses Seth, he moves his hand down and strokes over the front of Seth’s trunks, feeling the slightest bulge there, evidence that Seth’s at least half-hard. Dean pulls away, increases the pressure of his hand over the front of Seth’s trunks.

“You want me to touch you?” Dean asks, and he thinks he sees Seth nod, but he wants more. “Use your words, I can’t see ya.”

“Yeah,” Seth rasps, and what he adds after that surprises Dean. “Please.”

“How could I say no to a pretty lil’ thing like you?” Dean asks, moving his hand to wedge it inside Seth’s trunks, grasping his half-hard cock and stroking him to full hardness.

“You can’t,” Seth says, just before Dean touches him and his words are lost in a moan. Dean fights a smile, hiding it in a kiss to Seth’s shoulder.

“S’ awful confident, baby. Just cause you’re pretty don’t mean you get to be all full of yourself.”

Seth’s only response is a moan as Dean speeds up his strokes.

“Gotta talk to me, princess,” Dean reminds him. “How am I supposed to know if you’re likin’ it if you don’t tell me you do?”

“I like it,” Seth assures him, though it’s more of a pant with a string of interconnected words than a coherent sentence. But it’ll do.

“Yeah? You like bein’ jerked off in a fuckin’ hall closet where anyone could see ya if someone opened the door? Wanna get caught moanin’ like a fuckin’ whore with your dick in my hand?”

Seth chokes out something unintelligible and presses his face into Dean’s shoulder.

“I love it when you’re a fuckin’ whore for me, Sethie,” Dean murmurs, and he doesn’t even know if Seth can hear him, what with the way he’s whimpering and shaking, obviously close to coming, but he says it anyway. “I love how all I gotta do is touch your dick and you’ll do anythin’ for me. It’s fuckin’ hot. It’s fuckin’ hot how easy I make you fall apart, break you down into nothin’. Cause you’re nothin’ without me, Sethie. You need me to make you feel good, need me to make you feel appreciated, cause I do appreciate you. I appreciate havin’ a whore ready and willing for me 24/7. I really do. So the least I can do is this, right? Take care of ya?”

It’s now obvious Seth’s not listening, on the verge of coming, and so Dean stops stroking. Because this time, he wants Seth to listen to him.

And because it’s fun to deny Seth things. The kid’s gotta learn that being pretty doesn’t entitle him to everything.

“Do I take good care of ya?” Dean asks him. Seth groans in frustration, obviously wanting nothing but to come. “Answer me, or I ain’t gonna finish ya off,” Dean says firmly.

“You take such good care of me,” Seth answers, his words strung together almost mindlessly, his tone urgent.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Dean says, and grants Seth a few more strokes, then stops again, much to Seth’s obvious frustration.

“Touch me, you fucking asshole,” Seth snaps, and Dean clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“Haven’t I taught ya anything? You’re s’posed to ask nicely if ya wanna be touched. That wasn’t asking nicely.”

Seth inhales and exhales deeply, like he’s going to murder Dean if he doesn’t get his hand back on his dick in the next 0.5 seconds. “Please touch me,” Seth finally says, his tone all gritted teeth and frustration.

Dean grins wickedly. “I’ll consider it… but only if ya tell me you love bein’ my fuckin’ whore, and that I’ve ruined you.”

“You fucking asshole, I’m not—“

“Do ya want to come or not? I can do this shit all day, princess. Just say it and I’ll give you the best goddamn orgasm you’ve ever had. But if ya don’t say it, then I won’t.”

The seconds pass as Dean waits for a response, and he’s about to encourage Seth when Seth speaks up on his own.

“I love being your fucking whore, you’ve ruined me, goddamn it, Dean, just fucking touch me, _please_ ,” Seth rambles, and normally Dean would chastise him and tell him to say it properly, but the way Seth’s voice rises in desperation on the last word is just so fuckin’ hot that Dean can’t deny him any longer.

He strokes Seth a few more times, and then Seth is coming, his whole body shaking as his cum spills out over Dean’s fingers and into his trunks. His orgasm seems to last forever, and he nearly collapses on Dean once he’s stopped coming, and Dean’s just barely able to hold him up.

He pulls his hand out of Seth’s trunks and wipes the cum on his fingers off on Seth’s chest, just to embarrass Seth when he gets out of here.

He feels Seth’s hands on the button of his jeans, like he’s trying to return the favor, but Dean stops him by gently pushing him away. “I’m good, Sethie. You just get your pretty little ass out of here ‘fore I do.”

“Are you sure?” Seth asks, and Dean relishes in the uncertainty of his tone, like he really wants to stay. He likes to pretend that Seth would care enough to return the favor.

“’M sure. Go on, get out of here,” he says, lightly slapping Seth’s ass. Seth makes a noise akin to a squeak, but does as asked, opening the closet door and stepping out into the hallway without another word, shutting the door behind him.

Once he’s gone, Dean becomes aware that he’s painfully, achingly hard, and he makes short work of opening his jeans and shoving a hand into his boxer-briefs. It only takes him a few strokes and the mental image of Seth coming all over his hand to make him come, biting his fist to muffle the sound he makes as he spills into his underwear.

He doesn’t even care that it’ll be uncomfortable as hell to walk around with cum drying in his underwear, even as he readjusts himself and zips up his fly and buttons his jeans.

And as he exits the closet, trying his hardest to look like he didn’t just jerk Seth and himself off in there, he realizes he feels strangely content, like the only thing that brings him real peace (other than wrestling) is fuckin’ around with Seth.

The thought is concerning, and it continues to weigh heavily on his mind as he walks down the hallway and heads for the locker room, hoping he won’t see Seth there.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he finally pulls away, dizzy from lack of air, he realizes he just wants to forget everything for now, wants to be wrapped up in Seth and Roman.
> 
> He wonders if he can do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight bloodplay in this chapter; reader discretion advised.

The week after that, Dean is scheduled to partake in a battle royal.

He’s really fuckin’ excited, he won’t lie. He’s always loved the battle royal; has loved watching it since he was a kid stealing wrestling tapes from the local video store. Something about the chaos of it all and the necessity to constantly watch your back always excited him, and he’s never gotten to participate in one before, so the fact that he gets to participate in this one gets him really pumped.

He’s bouncing up and down in the locker room like a kid let loose in a candy store, shaking his hands in a poor attempt to quell the heady energy that’s ricocheting around inside of him.

Of course, it does absolutely nothing for him, so he goes to find the two people he can annoy best: Roman and Seth. He _knows_ they’re both here this time around; they’re supposed to participate in the battle royal, too.

Which is undeniably exciting. He’s going to kick both their asses out of the ring and then hold it over their heads for the next three months minimum.

Because he’s Dean Ambrose and he’ll do whatever the fuck he wants, thank you very much.

He finds Seth first; he’s getting ready, apparently, though Dean doesn’t yet feel like telling him he doesn’t stand a chance against him. Dean figures Seth’ll just find that out in the ring.

Seth evidently has the sense of mind not to be bent over when Dean approaches (which is kind of annoying, because he likes slapping Seth’s ass, but whatever), and, in fact, his back is to the lockers, meaning he sees Dean coming.

Why does Seth have to ruin his fun? He wanted to sneak up on Seth, maybe scare him a little bit, but _no_ , Seth has to _know_ he’s coming.

Fuckin’ pretty asshole.

Seth expresses his irritation with Dean’s presence with an annoyed groan. “What do you want, Ambrose?”

Dean frowns, pretending to be offended. “So we’re back to last names now? I’m hurt, Sethie. But s’okay, ‘cause I think your last name sounds real good on my tongue.” Seth rolls his eyes as Dean starts playing around with his last name, trying to be as insufferable as possible, because that’s his fuckin’ job.

He hopes there’s a ‘Most Irritating Wrestler of the Year’ award. Cause he’s got that one in the _bag._

“Rollins. _Rollins. Roooolllliiinnnns._ Yep, definitely sounds better when I say it.” He grins when Seth gives him a perturbed look, having absolutely no intention of leaving Seth alone.

“Could you please fuck off?” Seth asks, apparently no longer willing to tolerate Dean’s presence.

“Ouch. I’m hurt, Sethie, I really am. Cause you weren’t sayin’ that in the closet. I thought I meant somethin’ to ya.”

“Shut up and fuck off,” Seth mutters, his cheeks flushing an embarrassed red that actually kinda looks good on him.

Dean thinks his brain is even more fucked up than he previously thought.

“Why are ya wantin’ me to leave? We’re just gettin’ started, Sethie. We got a battle royal tonight! I’m gonna kick your ass! Aren’t ya excited?”

“For fuck’s sake, Dean, _leave_.”

Dean frowns, crossing his arms over his chest as if he’s truly offended. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave ya alone so you can be a bitch in peace.”

He leaves to go find Roman, leaving before Seth can respond; though he does catch the angry look Seth gives him after he calls him a bitch.

_Score._

* * *

It doesn’t take long to find Roman on the opposite side of the locker room, and he’s already dressed in his ring gear, wearing those trunks that make his ass look really nice, and Dean kind of wants to slap his ass but he doesn’t think it would fly as well as it does with Seth.

So he settles for leaning up against the lockers, acting all nonchalant as he watches Roman stretch his arms over his head.

“Hey, Rome,” Dean greets. Roman continues to stretch, but Dean assumes he heard him, so he continues. “You gettin’ ready for the battle royal tonight?”

“Yep,” Roman responds without a pause or even a glance at him. It’s going to take more than just words to worm his way under Roman’s skin, he realizes.

“I just wanted to wish you luck,” Dean says casually. “Y’know, ‘cause you’re gonna need it.”

That makes Roman pause and drop his arms, studying Dean with that same unreadable expression Dean almost hates.

(Almost, because he doesn’t think it’s possible to 100% hate any part of Roman Reigns.)

“I’m gonna need it?” Roman repeats. “Is that so?”

“Uh-huh. You ain’t gonna last in there with me bein’ around.”

“I guess we’ll see what happens,” Roman says after a few seconds of silence, smiling at Dean, that warm, easy smile that simultaneously makes Dean uncomfortable and infuriates him, like Roman’s not at all concerned about being in the ring with not only Dean, but probably the entirety of the male portion of the roster.

He kisses that stupid fucking smile off of Roman’s face, kisses him until he’s dizzy and somehow Roman’s gotten him pressed up against the lockers and Roman’s hands are on his hips and everything feels right.

“’M gonna win,” Dean informs Roman when their lips separate, panting slightly from being out-of-breath.

“We’ll see,” Roman says, and he smiles again, and Dean kisses it off his face again so he doesn’t have to acknowledge the way Roman’s smile makes him feel something warm in his chest.

* * *

It’s not that much later when it’s time for the battle royal (although it feels like it’s been forever, what with Dean all ramped up with anticipation). He’s part of a line of wrestlers who make their way through the curtain and stop at ringside, and once everyone’s out and standing by the ring, he’s pretty damn sure he was right in that the entire male portion of the roster is participating.

Dean sees both Roman and Seth, both roughly equal distances from him, although he doesn’t think they can see him.

The general manager comes out and starts explaining the rules (and Dean considers tuning her out because he really just wants to get in the ring and kick ass already, until she says there’s a twist): they have thirty seconds to get in the ring, and once those thirty seconds are up, anyone who’s in the ring gets to officially participate in the battle royal.

When the timer starts counting down the thirty seconds, Dean’s already rushing to get in the ring, because he’ll be damned if anyone’s gonna stop him from participating, and he feels at least three guys he doesn’t really know trying to keep him from getting in the ring, and he kicks and swings at them wildly and manages to haul himself in the ring just before the thirty seconds are up.

Dean finds that Seth, like the dumbass that he is, ends up on the apron instead of the inside of the ring, and he watches as Seth, instead of dealing with it normally, climbs up on the turnbuckle and does a weird backflip thing onto everyone who’s standing outside the ring.

What a fuckin’ weirdo.

He grins and waves at Seth mockingly as Seth storms out. Once Seth’s gone, he turns his attention back to the ring and finds Roman staring at him with an expression Dean would describe as fond if he didn’t know any better.

“Hey,” Dean says, punching Roman lightly on the arm. “You made it.”

Roman doesn’t respond verbally, just offers him a small smile and brushes past him to head to the corner.

Dean flicks one last glance at him before he decides to focus on what’s happening inside the ring: the battle royal hasn’t officially started yet, but they’re all sizing each other up, trying to decide who will be the easiest to eliminate and who will require group effort to eliminate.

Everyone seems to share the same mentality of who will require group effort, and so when the bell rings to officially start the battle royal, they’re all upon Big E Langston, and they send him over the top rope within a few seconds. They target Husky Harris after that, and it takes them a few seconds to knock him over the top rope, but he manages to keep his feet from touching the floor. Dean takes it upon himself to knock the guy’s legs out from under him and eliminate him personally.

He heads to the center of the ring after that, looking around, trying to see who he should target next. Everyone’s preoccupied with their own little matches, groups of two or three clustered in the ring, all busy trying to eliminate each other.

He eventually decides to target Kenneth Cameron, and spends several minutes trying to eliminate him, coming close a few times but never actually succeeding. He’s only slightly distracted by the announcer declaring that Briley Pierce and Epico and Brad Maddox and Hunico have been eliminated, but then he looks away and sees Roman trying valiantly to eliminate Rick Victor, and Roman distracts him enough that he gets his ass hauled over the top rope. Fortunately, he holds tight to the top rope and manages to scramble back into the ring before he can be eliminated, what with his feet having dangled dangerously close to the floor.

He decides now is a better time than ever to target Roman, and he starts on his way toward him, only to be stopped and sent flying into the turnbuckle by Xavier Woods, only for Woods to be promptly attacked by Richie Steamboat, giving him some time to breathe.

He gets about 0.5 seconds to breathe before Damien Sandow is trying to throw him over the top rope, but he plants himself firmly on the canvas to prevent himself from being eliminated. Fortunately, Roman comes to his aid, hitting Sandow with chops that distract him from Dean, who looks away from the two just in time to see Woods and Steamboat eliminate each other.

Deciding to let Roman handle Sandow on his own, he heads to the other side of the ring and starts attacking Cameron again. Everything is going well until Rick Victor comes up behind him and starts attacking him, then drags him to the other side of the ring and uses his momentum to throw him over the top rope and onto the mats outside the ring. He lands in an ungraceful heap, and he’s immediately _livid_ , because he should be the one who wins. He shouldn’t have to be lying on the floor, gritting his teeth in anger while the announcer says in that smug tone of hers that ‘Dean Ambrose has been eliminated.’

Roman better win the fucking thing or his fist is going to kiss the wall again.

Dean hauls himself to his feet and starts expressing his anger, kicking at the metal barricade by the mats. A referee hovers near him, as if he’s going to fling himself back into the ring and start throwing people out left and right (which is a tempting idea, but not one he feels like putting into action at the moment), but he ignores the referee as he storms out. He doesn’t even bother to stay and see if Roman wins.

He just leaves, because he’s fucking pissed.

* * *

“You fuckin’ idiot,” is the first thing Dean says when he returns to the locker room, when he finds Seth by his locker, looking horribly out of place next to the damaged surface of Dean’s locker.

“Couldn’t even get your fuckin’ ass in the ring in time, so you had to be a stupid fuckin’ show-off, with your stupid backflip off the turnbuckle,” Dean murmurs, pressing Seth’s back into the lockers as he closes the distance between them.

“Shut the fuck up. It’s not like you won,” Seth huffs in response.

Dean scowls. _“You_ shut the fuck up, you fuckin’ bitch. I got a lot farther than you did.”

Seth shuts him up by kissing him, all hard and fast and rough, and Dean’s hand finds his way into Seth’s hair and tugs, and Seth whimpers into his mouth. He bites down on Seth’s lip and tastes something coppery and warm immediately after, but he relishes in it, as well as the slight noise of pain Seth makes in response to his teeth’s collision with his lip.

Dean pulls away when he needs to breathe, only to find that he bit down on Seth’s lip hard enough for it to bleed a sizable amount, and there’s the smallest trail of blood down from the corner of Seth’s mouth to his chin, and Dean leans back in and licks it up, because he can.

Because he likes the fact that he can make Seth bleed, that he can break down Seth’s physical defenses and injure him.

He pulls away again, only to sense someone behind him, and he whirls around to find Roman standing behind him.

“Did you win?” Dean immediately asks, because he’s genuinely a little curious.

“No,” Roman says, and smiles like he did earlier, though this time it’s a wry smile. “Got close, though.”

Dean watches as Roman dabs at his lip with a finger, and he watches as Roman’s finger comes away with a red dot on it, and he realizes Roman’s lip’s bleeding, and he’s struck by the sudden urge to kiss him and taste it.

He gives in to the urge. He doesn’t care that Seth is right there, doesn’t care that he can still taste Seth’s blood on his tongue. All he wants right now is Roman.

_Roman, Roman, Roman,_ his mind is chanting, like a CD with a scratch on it that causes it to get stuck repeating one word of a song.

Roman’s obviously surprised by his sudden movement, as he doesn’t react to Dean’s lips on his for a few seconds, but when he reacts he responds with an intensity that surprises Dean; it could count as an angry kiss for how intense it is and how Dean bites at Roman’s lip to encourage more blood, because he wants every physical piece of Roman, just like how he wants every physical piece of Seth.

Roman moans into his mouth, the vibrations causing a shiver to run through him and his cock to twitch in interest, and Dean just presses himself closer, trying to minimize every gap between his body and Roman’s, even if impossible.

When he finally pulls away, dizzy from lack of air, he realizes he just wants to forget everything for now, wants to be wrapped up in Seth and Roman.

He wonders if he can do that.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He kind of really hates his dick for taking interest in both Seth Rollins and Roman Reigns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I posted this chapter on FF.net, someone attempted to guilt-trip me into feeling bad about not having posted a new chapter every day.  
> Guess that's what I get for posting it on there, but excuse me for having a life. Also, I won't lie, this past weekend was terrible and when I'm feeling terrible I tend to write terribly, and I figured no one would want to read terrible writing.  
> (I normally don't put stuff like this in the notes, but I had to get it off my chest.)

The moment doesn’t last forever, of course; nothing ever does, but Dean kind of wishes it would. He steps away from Roman, only to back into Seth, and he turns to find Seth looking downright furious, even more pissed than he had been at Dean’s presence.

“What the _fuck?”_ Seth asks.

Dean blinks. “What?”

He really doesn’t understand what’s got Seth pissed this time.

But, with Seth being the little bitch he is, of course he doesn’t bother to explain; he just punches Dean in the arm.

Dean frowns and punches him back, still having no fucking clue what’s up with him.

Before long, they’re going at it like they do in the ring, fighting just because they can (at least, that’s what Dean’s doing), and Dean’s on the verge of punching Seth in his stupid pretty face when Roman forces himself between them, separating them, much to Dean’s displeasure.

“What the fuck, Rome? I’m tryin’ to tame this bitch here, get the fuck out of the way!” Dean snaps, glaring at Seth over Roman’s shoulder. Seth returns his glare, and Dean seriously wants to go after him again, but Roman’s palm is pressed flat against his chest hard enough to leave a bruise, and he thinks Roman will deck him himself if he tries to go after Seth again.

“Stop it,” Roman says firmly, his voice low. “Save this shit for the ring.”

“But he’s a fuckin’—“

 _“Dean,”_ Roman says, in that commanding tone of his, and Dean shuts up.

Roman then looks to Seth. “Seth, what the fuck is your problem?”

“He kissed you,” Seth says, and Dean can hear every little bit of malice laced into his statement.

“Yeah, I did,” Dean responds, his eyes not moving from Seth’s face. “Why the fuck are you all pissy about it? It doesn’t have a fuckin’ thing to do with you.”

Seth doesn’t respond, though he still glares at Dean, and it finally clicks why Seth’s all pissed about it.

“Are you fuckin’ _jealous?”_ Dean asks, his tone drenched in disbelief. “What, do I not kiss you enough, is that it?”

Seth remains silent, glowering.

“Or do you wanna kiss Rome?” Dean continues, a brilliant idea coming to him that is quite obviously given away by the smirk that forms on his face. “I mean, I always knew you had the hots for him. Coulda said somethin’ sooner, we coulda worked somethin’ out.”

“I have no interest in kissing him,” Seth responds, but Dean certainly isn’t convinced. Who the hell wouldn’t want to kiss Roman? He’s got nice, soft, full lips that he knows how to use pretty damn well.

Dean kind of wants to see them wrapped around his cock.

Just kind of.

“Sure you don’t. Kiss ‘im already, Rome, or his bitchiness is gonna ruin my entire fuckin’ night.”

“I’m not kissing him,” Roman says, staring at Dean with an expression that makes him feel vaguely uncomfortable. It feels like Roman’s staring at him almost possessively.

Which is weird.

“Why the fuck not? It’ll make him stop fuckin’ whining! Do you know how much more pleasant this evening would be if I didn’t have to listen to him whining about everything?”

Seth lunges for him, but Dean only smirks at him as Roman holds him back. “C’mon, Sethie,” he goads. “Just admit you wanna kiss Rome.”

“No,” Seth spits, and Dean shrugs.

“Fine,” he says. “Suit yourself.” He leans in and kisses Roman, solely to provoke Seth. He doesn’t expect Roman to respond, since the lines of his body reveal his tenseness, but Roman responds eagerly, licking into his mouth with a fever that almost makes Dean whimper. He thinks he actually hears a whimper, though he’s 98% sure it came from Seth and not himself.

He pulls away and grins shamelessly at Seth, whose face reveals a mixture of anger and desire. It’s so unlike Roman, Dean thinks absentmindedly. He can never see what Roman’s thinking, but Seth’s face always gives him away.

He suddenly remembers what the hell he’s supposed to be doing, so he gently pushes Roman out of the way to get to Seth. It’s not hard; Dean’s distracted him with the kiss, and so he moves easily. Dean surges forward to kiss Seth, slow and heavy and deliberate. Seth doesn’t respond at first, but eventually his resistance melts away and his lips are moving in accord with Dean’s. Dean brings his hands down to rest on Seth’s hips, gently pushing him up against the locker, not letting their lips separate in the process.

He finally pulls away when he remembers he needs to breathe, and he takes deep breaths as he presses his forehead against Seth’s. “There ya go,” he murmurs, hoping his voice is low enough so Roman won’t hear. “You ‘n Rome indirectly kissed. But ‘m gonna make you two kiss directly, eventually… ‘cause I’m bettin’ it’ll be hot as fuck. ‘N I know you wanna kiss him, Sethie, don’t deny it.”

He takes a step back and straightens himself, ignoring the suspicious gaze Roman is giving him. “Now both of ya get the fuck outta here. I gotta change, and I know both of ya wanna see my ass, but I’m not lettin’ ya. So get outta here.”

Seth grumbles something unintelligible under his breath, but he leaves. Roman doesn’t leave immediately, though, continuing to stare at Dean suspiciously.

“What?” Dean asks, wrinkling his nose in confusion. “I got somethin’ on my face or somethin’?”

Roman shakes his head, just steps closer until Dean is forced to back into the row of lockers and there’s nowhere else for him to go.

“You think I didn’t hear what you were saying to Seth?” Roman asks, and his voice is low, threatening, and the gravelly tone of it encourages a familiar heat to build in the pit of Dean’s stomach. When Dean doesn’t answer, Roman slides his hand into his hair, fingers grasping the strands and tugging, and he involuntarily gasps at the feeling.

“Answer me,” Roman says, and there’s a darkness in his eyes, and Dean kind of really likes it.

“Fuck, I dunno,” he mumbles, actually whining when Roman’s fingers tug at his hair again. Roman shakes his head, laughs a dry, humorless laugh.

“I know what you’re up to, Dean. You think you can have both of us. But that’s not how it works,” Roman says, and his voice now is just a low rumble in his throat, and Dean may or may not be slightly turned on. “You can only have one or the other. You can’t have both, can’t be greedy. So which is it gonna be, hmm? Me or Seth?”

Dean’s throat feels too dry to even answer, so he just swallows and tips his head up against the locker so his gaze moves toward the ceiling. Roman uses his free hand to bring his head back down, though, so their gazes lock once more.

Roman smiles at him, but this isn’t a warm smile; Dean would describe it as predatory. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to answer right now. I’ll give you some time to think about it, and you come to me when you’ve decided.” He pauses, as if he’s giving Dean time to let his words sink in. “I say come to _me_ because I already know who you’ll choose. Cause I can give you so much more than Seth ever could.”

Roman’s free hand moves out of Dean’s sight, and he’s confused for a moment before he finds that hand is rubbing over the fabric of his trunks, and he realizes belatedly that he’s half-hard.

He moans and pushes his hips up toward Roman’s hand, but Roman just smiles again and pulls away, his other hand disentangling itself from Dean’s hair as he steps back.

“Think about it, baby boy,” he says, turning and walking away before Dean even has a chance to say _what the fuck was that._

He kind of really hates his dick for taking interest in both Seth Rollins and Roman Reigns.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean folds his arms over his chest again, bares his teeth at Roman, and mouths ‘fuck you’ at him, bothered by how irritated and turned on he is. Roman just smiles at him, sharp and mocking, almost mirroring Dean’s trademark grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of abuse in the form of bad domming in this chapter; please tread carefully.
> 
> (Did I say Dean was going to decide in this chapter? I meant the next chapter... or the one after that. Oops. Sorry.)

Dean doesn’t see Roman or Seth for two weeks after their odd little encounter.

He spends a lot of the time in between thinking.

Thinking, thinking, thinking.

It’s one of the various things he hates doing – he knows firsthand how easy it is for your brain to trick you into doing stupid shit, saying stupid shit, from thinking too much. He prefers to just dive into things headfirst: no thinking, no regrets.

And he definitely avoids thinking in the ring. Thinking in the ring would get him killed, wouldn’t get him to where he is today: in one of the top spots in WWE’s prime developmental territory.

But in the time he spends alone in those two weeks, almost all he does is think.

He thinks about the way it felt to have Roman’s fingers threading through his hair, pulling just hard enough to make Dean start to wander into that headspace he doesn’t like to explore very often.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to explore it; he wants to know all parts of himself, even the ones he doesn’t like.

It’s just that he can never trust anyone enough to fully explore it. Whenever he tries, he always ends up much like he does in the ring: beaten and battered and pushed past his limits.

But with Roman, it was different. He hardly knows the guy, but some part of him feels like he can trust him. Like he could place himself in Roman’s hands, all raw and sharp-edged, and Roman would let him go into that headspace, smooth down his sharp edges, and never really hurt him.

He thinks about how possessive Roman sounded, how Roman promised him everything.

Well, he hadn’t really said “everything,” but he had promised to give him more than Seth could, and Dean’s sure Seth could give him almost everything.

A pretty little whore like Seth, some cigarettes, and some beer; that’s all Dean really needs in life. So he’s got that just about down.

He’ll admit, though, that he’s curious about what Roman could offer him. Roman’s strikingly handsome; tall and dark, with a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. The way Roman looks at him sometimes makes Dean feel like he’s on fire.

And Dean would be lying if he said he’s never wanted to get into Roman’s bed.

But he finds himself thinking about Seth, too. The way Seth lets him in so easily, the way Dean can break down Seth’s stubborn walls with the simplest of words and the lightest touches. The way it feels to have Seth underneath him, begging to be touched, wanting to be used.

He thinks about how positively addicting it is to control Seth.

How the fuck is he supposed to choose between the two of them when he wants both?

It shouldn’t even matter that much what he does with them anyway. They’re not his; they’ll never be his. They’re just toys for him to play with.

And even if they really _were_ his, they’d just be possessions. Dean knows from experience that having possessions just makes you a target. People will come after you and steal your possessions. So it’d be only a matter of time before someone took Seth and Roman from him, because they could offer the two of them more than he could.

Still, he thinks. He hardly sleeps, hardly eats, during the two weeks that pass. Because Seth and Roman have both wedged themselves firmly under his skin and being forced to choose between the two of them feels the same way as it does to be thrown through a table that’s been wrapped in barbed wire and set on fire.

He comes to his decision the night before the taping, the night before it’s been two weeks since Roman surprised him with his proposition.

* * *

Dean’s in a good mood when he heads to the locker room, purely because he’d been informed on his arrival that he was to have a triple threat match against none other than Seth and Roman, to “determine the #1 contender for the Florida Heavyweight Championship.”

He loves being in the ring with Seth, and he loves being in the ring with Roman, so he can’t think of a better way to spend his time tonight.

He changes into his ring gear fairly quickly when he reaches his locker, wanting to have enough time to talk to the two of them before the match. After he stuffs his street clothes into his locker and closes it, he’s off to find Seth, first; he’s got something to discuss with him.

* * *

Seth is leaning against his locker, tapping away at the screen of his stupid smartphone, and Dean kind of wants to rip it out of his hands and drop it on the ground and step on it.

Just because.

He has to ball his hands up into tight fists to quiet the twitch in his hands as the urge to do exactly that presents itself the closer he gets to Seth. Seth doesn’t look up at him when he approaches, even though he’s damn sure Seth knows he’s there.

“Hey, Sethie,” he says, and the nickname comes out sounding a little forced; something entirely unexpected.

He feels off, for some reason. Like being around Seth muddles the thought pattern in his head.

Seth looks up at him and huffs out a sigh that sounds less irritated than it should. “What do you want, Ambrose?”

“I just wanna ask ya somethin’. Then I’ll go away, promise,” he says. Seth’s lips press together in a thin line, and he cocks his head at Dean.

“Ask, if it means you’ll go away,” he finally says. Dean grins, feeling victorious.

“So you remember when you came to my door, beggin’ to be fucked?” he asks. The way Seth’s cheeks flush red means he _definitely_ remembers. Dean’s grin grows wider, edges sharp. “I’m just real curious, princess, how you found out where I live. So I just wanna know how you found that out.”

Seth is silent for a while, as if he’s considering whether or not to tell Dean. Dean crowds in closer as he waits, nearly pressing his body against Seth’s and sandwiching him between himself and the locker.

“Well?” he prompts, tapping his fingers impatiently along the curve of Seth’s arm. “Are you gonna tell me or not?”

Seth finally gives him an answer, but it’s too low and mumbled to be clearly heard. Dean frowns, cupping his ear. “Can’t hear ya.”

“General manager,” Seth says, and his voice sounds shaky. “Asked her.”

Dean lets his disbelief fall from his lips in the form of a laugh. “What, did you bang her to get the answer outta her?”

“No. Just asked. Said I had something to give you,” Seth says, and his voice gets quieter as he talks, nearly dropping to a mumble at the end of his sentence, like he’s legitimately embarrassed.

Seth’s kind of cute when he’s embarrassed.

“Well, ‘s not a lie. You did have somethin’ to give me,” he says. He pauses for dramatic effect, and Seth opens his mouth, holding a hand up like that’s gonna stop him.

“Dean—“

“Your ass,” Dean finishes, and his grin is razor-sharp, mocking. He doesn’t think he’s seen Seth’s cheeks get any redder outside of bed than they are now. “Anyway, thanks for tellin’ me, princess. I’ll see ya ‘round. We got a match later, in case you didn’t know,” he says. He pats Seth on the shoulder as a means of saying goodbye, a little harder than he should in case it seems too fond.

He’s still got another target to hit before he can start getting ready for the match.

* * *

Roman’s on the other side of the locker room, standing by his locker and changing into his ring gear when Dean finds him.

Dean pretends not to notice Roman pulling his trunks up his legs, though he does have to shove a hand into his own trunks to adjust himself to avoid his interest being publicly displayed.

Thankfully, Roman doesn’t notice him until after Dean pulls his hand out of his trunks and after he’s finished changing.

“Hey,” Roman says, smiling at him with that warmth that makes something in Dean ache strangely. He tries to downplay its effect, because there’s no fucking way in hell he’s letting Roman know that stupid smile of his does shit to him.

“Hey,” Dean echoes, leaning against one of the lockers, standing a few feet from Roman. He’s quiet, for once; he wants to see what Roman has to say.

The thought in itself is concerning; Dean Ambrose is not the kind to give a fuck about what anyone other than himself has to say.

Goddamn it, Roman’s in his fucking head in more ways than one.

Fuck him.

“So have you decided?” Roman asks, getting to the point, as Dean predicted.

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ on his lips obnoxiously. He swears he sees Roman’s eyes flash.

“Why not?”

“’Cause I’ve been busy! I ain’t been thinkin’ about either of your asses. You think I got the time to think about either of ya like that? Cause if you do, you’re fuckin’ stupid. I thought you had a brain, Ro.”

It’s entirely a lie, but Dean will never admit he spent the entire time thinking about the two of them, thinking and thinking and thinking until he wished he could rip his brain out of his skull so he could stop thinking and maybe sleep peacefully for once.

As if that would ever happen.

Roman sighs, sounding almost impatient. “I only gave you the extra time to think about it because you looked freaked. I didn’t think you would _need_ it. It shouldn’t be a hard decision, Dean.”

Dean frowns and folds his arms over his chest defiantly. “I’ll take my time decidin’ if I want to, fuck off.”

Roman’s eyes seem to grow darker, and he takes a step forward. Dean’s tempted to step back, but he forces himself to stay in the same spot, even as Roman continues to minimize the distance between them, stopping when there’s no more than half a foot of space between them.

“Dean,” Roman says, his voice dropping down into that low rumble that does things to Dean. It should be illegal, he thinks.

“What?” he asks, deepening his frown. Roman reaches over, resting a hand on the nape of his neck, fingers curled, and something stirs inside Dean at the possessive gesture.

“You need to decide.”

His words barely register with Dean at first, too busy using the majority of his brainpower trying to resist leaning in to Roman’s touch, but finally, he understands what Roman had spoken.

“I’ll decide after the match. Wanna focus on the match for now,” Dean declares. Roman gives him a long, hard look, scrutinizing him. It makes him feel vaguely uncomfortable.

Without another word, Roman leans in and kisses him. It’s a heated, slow kiss that makes Dean moan to express his desire for more, arousal starting to pool hot in his gut. He’s dazed when Roman pulls away, and probably half-hard in his trunks.

“In case you needed a little more convincing,” Roman explains. He steps back, giving Dean space that he doesn’t really want, and Dean almost whines when Roman’s hand disappears from the nape of his neck.

“You fuckin’—“ Dean begins, but he’s interrupted by Roman placing his hand firmly over his mouth to silence him. Definitely irritated now, he sinks his teeth into the palm of Roman’s hand as hard as he possibly can, tasting tangy salt and hot copper and something else that’s just inexplicably _Roman,_ but the motherfucker doesn’t even flinch.

Bastard.

Roman raises unimpressed eyebrows at him, and Dean should get Roman’s hand off his mouth, but he kind of really likes what he’s tasting, and instead of moving away or biting again, he laps at Roman’s skin, like a dog.

This time, Dean sees a definite flash in Roman’s eyes. “Dean, if you don’t stop that, I’ll make you lick something else,” he threatens. It’s an empty threat.

Or so Dean thinks.

He continues to lap at Roman’s hand, lavishing it with attention. Roman finally pulls his hand away, looking briefly at the mess of spit and blood on his palm before wiping it on Dean’s chest with a grimace.

“Hey!” Dean protests, looking offended. “My chest ain’t a fuckin’ towel.”

Roman says nothing, just offers his hand to him again. Dean raises his eyebrows, challenging him, and Roman just tips his head forward in a miniscule nod. So Dean presses in closer, starts lapping at Roman’s hand again.

He doesn’t know why he’s doing it, but he’s certainly enjoying it.

Roman makes a strangled noise, and Dean fights the urge to stop and smirk knowingly at him.

Just as he overcomes the urge, Roman speaks. “You know, I’d do it. I think that’s what you want.”

Dean pauses, raises an eyebrow at him, questioning. “I’d make you get on your knees right here and suck my cock,” Roman says, his voice low, and _fuck_ yes, Dean is interested.

(He actually whimpers a little bit, but he tries to muffle it in the palm of Roman’s hand, hoping Roman didn’t hear it.)

“I’d fuck your mouth. I’d fucking choke you. Someone needs to shut your ass up for a while, and I’d do it easily,” Roman continues, and Dean is very, very interested, but he’s pretending not to be.

At least, he’s trying to. He’s pretty sure Roman can see how hard he is. His dick is a fucking traitor, as usual.

“You’d fucking love it,” Roman murmurs, his voice rough. “You try to hide it with Seth, try to act like you’re in charge… but really, Dean, what you need is someone to be in charge of you. Someone to give you a good fucking and remind you of your place.”

Dean’s legs nearly give out, and he catches himself just before he would crumple to the floor.

Because _goddamn_ it sounded hot, the way Roman worded it.

He’s willing to admit he _could_ use a good fucking.

Roman pulls his hand away, and Dean can’t help the disappointed noise that falls from his lips. This time, Roman is the one smirking knowingly.

Fucking handsome asshole.

“We have a match later,” Roman offers as an explanation. “I think you’d better go get ready.”

Dean folds his arms over his chest again, bares his teeth at Roman, and mouths _‘fuck you’_ at him, bothered by how irritated and turned on he is. Roman just smiles at him, sharp and mocking, almost mirroring Dean’s trademark grin.

It only serves to increase Dean’s level of agitation, and he just huffs and storms off, not wanting to acknowledge the fact that he so deeply desires to both punch Roman and to suck his dick (in what order, he’s not sure).

He kind of hates Roman Reigns.

Just kind of.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They don’t even know I’m bi, you know I told ya that shit ain’t acceptable around here. So you think I want them to know I’m choosin’ between fuckin’ a guy and gettin’ fucked by a guy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit goes to StartTheRiot for suggesting the genius idea that's used in this chapter and will also be used in the next chapter.

It’s no more than half an hour later that Dean finds himself standing backstage, waiting for the match to be announced. Seth and Roman are there, too, but they’re mostly keeping to themselves, which is a little disappointing. He still wants to provoke them, but right now he wants to expend his energy in the match, not in trying to provoke them. He doesn’t feel like doing all of the work to provoke them, so he keeps quiet, tapping on his collarbone absentmindedly to give him something to do. 

When the match is (finally) announced, Roman’s announced first, and as he steps in front of Dean, Dean takes it upon himself to smack Roman’s ass, grinning shamelessly in response to the irritated look Roman gives him.

Roman mouths _‘we’ll talk later’_ to him, just before he pushes through the curtain. Dean’s grin doesn’t fade as he leaves, and after he’s gone, Dean slings his arm over Seth’s shoulder.

“Y’know, I love Rome’s entrance music,” he says nonchalantly. Seth frowns at him and knocks his arm off his shoulder, although he doesn’t bother to say anything in response. Dean returns the frown, but leaves Seth alone.

He’s announced after Roman, and he bursts through the curtain before the announcer has even finished speaking, bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation. Roman’s got his eyes on him from the moment he comes into his line of vision, and Dean returns the hard gaze as he walks up the steel steps to the ring. He doesn’t take his eyes off Roman even as he slips under the top rope to get into the ring and paces around the ring to his corner.

As Roman uses the top rope of the ring to stretch (or something; Dean honestly doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing) and as Seth’s entrance music hits, Dean approaches Roman, pretending to lunge for him before giving him a lopsided grin and stepping back into his corner. Roman shoots him a glare, but it doesn’t affect Dean at all.

“Just psychin’ ya out,” he calls. He flicks his gaze toward the entrance as Seth comes out from behind the curtain, watching him with the slightest trace of amusement visible on his face. Seth has the most fuckin’ ridiculous entrance he’s ever seen, and it’s actually kind of amusing to watch.

Seth climbs up onto the apron once he’s done flailing around, looking from Roman to Dean, nodding minutely at Dean. Dean curls his lip in a sneer as he watches Seth climb onto the middle turnbuckle to show off to the crowd. He tilts his head as he waits for Seth to be done, getting all the tension out of his neck so he feels all loose and limber.

Seth looks back at him, and Dean looks briefly at Roman before looking back at Seth, pursing his lips in a smirk.

They all wait (rather impatiently) for the bell to be rung to signify the match’s official start. Once it’s finally rung, they circle each other like predators trying to hunt their prey, the three of them all apparently knowing each other well enough to know what to expect.

Dean’s about to lunge for Roman when he gets distracted by Regal, and he creeps back into his corner and climbs onto the middle rope to bend over the top turnbuckle and start taunting him.

Of course, that doesn’t last long, as he feels a hand on his shoulder and Roman yanks him back down onto the mat, turning around just in time to receive a hard slap across the face from Seth that knocks him on his ass and prompts him to roll out of the ring.

Seth starts to go after him, but stops at the last second and turns his attention to Roman instead. Dean watches the two of them fight for a little bit, actually sort of impressed at their athleticism and skill (and he promptly pretends he didn’t genuinely think that), before he crawls back into the ring.

Roman and Seth don’t notice him at first, what with Roman kicking Seth into the corner, until Dean throws himself at Roman, secretly relishing the way Roman’s face contorts in pain as he grabs him by the hair and drags him to another corner.

Dean has the upper hand for approximately 0.2 seconds before Roman manages to shove him in the corner and punches him a few times, giving Dean only seconds to recover before he flings him into the center of the ring with little effort.

Dean inches his way back into the corner, holding onto the ropes for support, and Roman follows him, prepared to continue his assault until, thankfully, Seth drags Roman away from him and begins his own assault on Roman. Dean spends a few seconds hunched over in the corner, trying to recover, before he hauls himself back to his feet and stalks over to the other side of the ring, where Seth has Roman pressed into the ropes. With a nod at Seth that’s returned, the two begin a shared assault, until Roman reasserts his dominance over them and manages to slam them both face-first into the canvas.

Not willing to give up so easily, Dean climbs back to his feet and starts punching at Roman, trying to hit whatever he can reach. Seth does the same, and the two of them drive Roman down onto the mat.

Once Roman’s down, Dean’s attention turns to Seth, who’s staring at him cautiously, frozen like a deer in headlights. Dean smirks and curls his hand into a raised fist, never breaking eye contact with him.

That is, until they notice Roman’s starting to get up. They fling themselves at him again, kicking and punching him back down. Seth proceeds to grab Roman and drag him into the center of the ring, where he hooks Roman’s arms behind his back to keep him in place to allow Dean to land solid blows to his chest.

It’s kind of beautiful, the way Roman thrashes as he hits him.

They continue to wear Roman down, dragging him back into the corner only for Dean to throw his full body weight atop him, then Seth right after, the impact forcing Roman’s body to slam into the turnbuckles.

When Seth runs toward the ropes on the opposite side of the ring after Roman manages to make his way back to the center of the ring, Dean clotheslines him over the top rope, knocking him out of the ring, and tries to pin Roman, only for the asshole to kick out at two.

Frustrated, he grabs at Roman in an attempt to use _Midnight Special,_ but Roman wriggles out of his grasp and lands on his feet, then immediately starts punching Dean in the face. He sends Dean into the ropes, but Dean clings to them, reaching over and pulling Seth up onto the apron by his hair, only for Seth to punch him in the face and send him stumbling backwards. He regains his composure and lunges for Seth, but Seth ducks, pulling the top rope down and sending Dean flying over it and landing rather ungracefully outside the ring.

He scrambles back into the ring and targets Roman, aiming for a square blow to the jaw, but Roman ducks and moves out of the way and he ends up hitting Seth instead.

(Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but he’s kinda really pissed at Roman at the moment and it would be much more satisfying to punch Roman.)

Seth rolls out of the ring, so Dean focuses his attention on Roman. He manages to drag him into the center of the ring, proceeding to force him into the _Regal Stretch_ (mocking Regal again, just because he can). He thoroughly enjoys the pained groans that fall from Roman’s lips and the desperate flail of his limbs as he tries to inch his way over to the ropes.

Much to his displeasure, Roman finally manages to get to the ropes and clamps his fingers firmly around the bottom rope, forcing Dean to let go. To show his displeasure, he pulls Roman’s hair before he lets go, using almost the full extent of the count.

He proceeds to drag Roman back into the middle of the ring and starts to place him in that submission hold once more, only for the fucking asshole known as Seth Rollins to come out of literally-fucking-nowhere, jump off the top rope, and hit him squarely in the chest with a clothesline that sends his ass over his head.

Literally.

He ends up sprawled flat on his back in the center of the ring, and he feels the distinctive weight of a body covering him for a pin. He doesn’t know which one of the two it is, but it doesn’t matter, because he refuses to let either of them win, so he kicks out at two, despite the fresh wave of pain the movement sends coursing through his body.

When he sits up, he realizes Seth had been the one attempting to pin him. Dean climbs to his feet and tries to go after Seth as the other man is using the ropes to gain momentum, but Seth dodges him easily, going for a suicide dive through the gap between the top and middle ropes that knocks Roman on his ass.

Dean heads for that side of the ring, and Seth comes out of nowhere again and climbs onto the apron. Dean grabs him by the hair, but Seth manages to kick him in the face and stun him, making him fall back onto his knees.

He ends up flat on his back, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Seth climbing onto the top turnbuckle, and he realizes vaguely that his spot ain’t a good spot to be in at the moment, so he manages to roll out of the way just before Seth’s planned attack would land.

Dean meets Seth in the middle of the ring, and they start trading blows. His punches don’t have as much force packed into them as he would like; he’s fairly worn down, and although he’ll keep fighting in the ring even if he ends up dead, he’s got substantially less energy than he did when the match began.

They continue for a while, desperation and irritation growing with each punch, until Dean notices Roman’s back up on the apron and rushes over to keep him out. Seth apparently has the same thought, and together they knock Roman back off the apron. No more than a second after that, Seth attempts to pin Dean, but Dean rolls out of it, glaring at Seth.

They start trading blows again, and this time their mutual exhaustion is evident in the slow, weary pace of their punches. But Dean knows half-assed punches aren’t gonna get him anywhere, aren’t gonna get him the Florida Heavyweight Championship, and so he hauls Seth up onto his shoulders, attempting to go for _Midnight Special._

That’s when the other fucking asshole, the one named Roman Reigns, comes out of literally-fucking-nowhere (which Dean thinks he should ask Seth and Roman where the hell that is and what stupid fucking speed boost it apparently gives them), and, much to his shock and disbelief, hauls Dean up onto his shoulders, so the asshole showoff has both Dean and Seth on _his_ shoulders.

Roman proceeds to drop both of them on the canvas in a Samoan drop, and the impact _really_ fucking hurts, the force of it enough to make Dean hunch over, clutching his stomach.

He looks up in time to see Roman show off some more (as usual) and clothesline Seth over the top rope and out of the ring. As Dean stumbles to his feet, Roman approaches him, gaze hard and determined.

Before Dean even has a chance to get his bearings, Roman hits him with that stupid fucking move he calls _Checkmate_ (what a stupid fucking name), and then he’s pinning him, and the warmth of Roman’s body pressed over his and the way one hand curls around the back of Dean’s thigh and the other curls around his forearm _almost_ makes up for his loss.

Almost.

As he lays flat on the canvas, chest rising and falling rapidly as he tries to catch his breath and recover, he’s vaguely aware of Roman walking around him, showing off like the fucking handsome asshole that he is.

If Dean had more energy, he’d punch him in the fucking dick.

Once Roman finally stops showing off and leaves the ring, Dean forces himself to roll out of the ring, groaning at the soreness he feels all the way down to his bones.

He’s gonna hurt like a bitch tomorrow.

He drags himself backstage and back to the locker room, looking for Seth when he gets there. He’s got something fairly important to tell him.

* * *

Dean finds Seth by his locker, licking his metaphorical wounds, a frown etched into his face.

Seth notices when he approaches, his frown deepening as he watches Dean.

“What, you ain’t happy to see me?” Dean asks. “You should be. C’mon, princess. You’re prettier when you ain’t frownin’.”

Seth purses his lips and shakes his head. Dean relents, trying to get to his point; he’s slightly worried Roman might find them or overhear them, and his plan will be fucked if Roman overhears. He’s certain Roman’s looking for him, anyway, wanting to hear his decision, so he’s got to make this quick.

“I got somethin’ to tell you,” Dean informs him.

Seth is silent for a minute or two, eventually sighing with exasperation. “Then tell me.”

“I can’t tell you here. ‘S important.”

Seth’s eyebrows furrow, his face a perfect portrait of confusion. “Then where the hell can you tell me?” he asks, his voice rising in frustration.

“ _Shhh._ At dinner.”

Seth blinks, his confusion obviously not lessened. “What?”

“Have dinner with me, you fuckin’ idiot,” Dean huffs. “’S not that hard to understand.”

“Why should I do that?”

“Because you want to hear what I have to say. It’s super important, Sethie. And I bet you’ll love it.”

Seth rolls his eyes, but Dean receives no verbal response, so he folds his arms across his chest, waiting.

Finally, Seth speaks. “Fine. What’s the place and when?”

Dean rattles off the address, smirking victoriously all the while. “Tomorrow. I got a reservation at midnight. ‘S a nice place, so _try_ to look nice. I know it’s hard for ya, but try.”

Seth scowls at him. “Fuck you, I _always_ look good. And what kind of restaurant’s open at midnight on a Sunday?”

“A nice restaurant. You know, the kind you’re unfamiliar with ‘cause they don’t let cheap trash like you in.” He grins when Seth glares at him so darkly that he’s almost unrecognizable. He sees one of Seth’s fists raise as if he’s going to punch him, and he decides it’s time to leave and try to sort the Roman situation out. “Well, see ya tomorrow, Sethie,” he says, granting him a mocking salute as a goodbye.

Just one more step and Part A of his brilliant plan will be complete.

* * *

When Dean returns to his own locker, he finds Roman waiting for him impatiently, his eyes dark and lips pressed together in a thin line.

“Well?” Roman asks as he approaches.

Dean feigns innocence. “What?”

“Have you decided?”

“Oh, _that_ ,” Dean says, offering Roman a sly grin as if the whole ‘being forced to make a decision’ situation has just now come back to him. “Yeah.”

Roman tilts his head, evidently scrutinizing Dean, as if he doesn’t believe him. “Really?”

“Yep,” Dean says, popping his lips on the ‘p’ just to be obnoxious.

“Then who’d you choose?”

“I can’t tell you.”

A frown settles on Roman’s face. “What? Why not?”

“’Cause this is so fuckin’ public, Rome. Look at this. Ya think I want all these jackasses,” he says, gesturing toward the rest of the locker room, “knowing all ‘bout my personal life? They don’t even know I’m bi, you know I told ya that shit ain’t acceptable around here. So you think I want them to know I’m choosin’ between fuckin’ a guy and gettin’ fucked by a guy?”

Roman hums thoughtfully. “Good point,” he concedes. “Where, then?”

“There’s a real nice restaurant a couple blocks from my apartment. Could meet ya there tomorrow night, tell ya over some good food,” Dean suggests. “You get to hear my decision; I get food; ‘s a win for everyone.”

Roman sighs, a long, drawn-out breath. “Fine,” he says. “But if you’re pulling any shit on me… I promise, you’ll regret it.” There’s a few seconds of silence before he adds on, “What’s the place?”

Dean gives him the address, repeating it in the same tone he’d used when giving the address to Seth earlier. “I got a reservation at midnight. Look all nice ‘n handsome, ‘cause it’s a nice place. Ya gotta look good to get in.”

Roman’s face screws up in confusion. “Midnight? Really, Dean? Why midnight?”

“None of your fuckin’ business,” Dean retorts. “Fuckin’ nosy, man. You can’t just accept free food and be done with it? …Free, that is, if I don’t make ya pay for it.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I might,” Dean counters. “I’m broke as hell; our fuckin’ meal will probably deplete all my nonexistent savings. Meanwhile, you’re prob’ly gettin’ handouts from your rich ‘n famous family. You could prob’ly pay for ten meals. So if I make ya pay, I got a good reason.”

He thinks he sees something in Roman’s face twitch at the suggestion that he receives handouts from his family, but Roman doesn’t grant him a direct verbal response to the statement. He just exhales slowly, as if he’s attempting to control his anger.

“Fine. Midnight tomorrow. No fucking stunts, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” Dean says, grinning at Roman. He can tell Roman doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t care. “Now get outta here. I gotta change.”

For once, Roman relents, and as Dean (slowly) changes out of his ring gear and into his street clothes, he thinks about how his brilliant plan has officially been set into motion, and how fuckin’ great the next day will be.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I said no fucking stunts, and you pulled a stunt on me. I’ve got no choice, Dean,” he says with a pause, and Dean’s confused as hell.

Midnight can’t come fast enough. Dean’s restless in his apartment the entire day, pacing while trying to figure out how to make his plan work flawlessly and not end in Seth and Roman murdering him.

Easier said than done.

When 11:30 finally rolls around, he dresses in a T-shirt and his favorite leather jacket (a pricey thing for him, although he’s worn it so much that the edges are growing ragged) and a pair of jeans with the knees wearing thin. Then he grabs his keys and his wallet, shoving them in his pockets before he heads out.

(For once, he’s early, because his plan won’t work if he gets there after Roman and Seth do.)

He’d purposely failed to tell them that the ‘nice restaurant’ he mentioned was actually a cheap 24-hour diner he’d visited a handful of times and came to like in the 8 months since he’d moved to Orlando. The food isn’t something he should be constantly eating if he wants to continue as a wrestler, but it’s edible and the diner’s a good place to go when his infuriating bouts of insomnia are keeping him awake and his mind is trying to feed him lies and he can’t stay in his apartment any longer for fear of losing himself.

It’s a nice restaurant to him. To Seth and Roman, maybe not so much. Although he _will_ enjoy seeing them horribly overdressed.

It’s a ‘seat yourself’-type place, so he slides into an empty booth in the corner that’s a good distance from the entrance and begins thumbing through the menu that the waitress hands to him, after he orders water and informs her that he’s waiting on two others.

Every few minutes or so, he peeks over the edge of the menu to peer at the entrance, checking to see if Seth or Roman have shown up yet.

Just when he’s peeked for what’s probably the third or fourth time, his stomach growling to remind him that he actually needs to eat, and he’s starting to think they’ve both stood him up, Roman shows up.

Dean grins when he sees him standing by the entrance, looking around and looking terribly out of place, and does his best to get his attention, cocking his head in the direction of his booth and silently willing Roman to stop being a dumbass and look harder.

He’s about to start flat-out yelling at Roman when the other man finally finds him and starts heading in his direction, shooting him a pointed glare.

“I thought you said it was a nice restaurant,” Roman says as he settles down on the opposite side of the booth.

“It is. For me.” Dean smirks at the irritated look he receives from Roman in response.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, looking through the menu, when Roman speaks again. “So when are you going to tell me who you chose?”

“When I get food in my stomach,” Dean replies matter-of-factly. Roman rolls his eyes.

“Then order something already.”

“Can’t. ‘M waitin’.”

Roman looks oddly suspicious at that, being more expressive than usual. Huh.

“On what?”

“Somethin’. None of your business. Quit bein’ so damn nosy,” Dean says quickly, mentally cursing himself at his off-pace, scrambled answer.

“Relax, Dean. I’m not going to hurt you.” Dean raises an eyebrow at that, and Roman adds, “If you don’t give me a reason to.”

“Ooh. Kinky.” He’s about to say something else when his gaze instinctively flicks back to the entrance, and this time, he sees Seth.

Perfect.

Roman apparently notices him staring off at something else, turning to see what he’s looking at. Seth freezes in his tracks when he sees Roman, but Dean tilts his head and crooks a finger at him, urging him over.

Roman turns back to Dean, anger evident on his face. “Dean, I said no fucking stunts.”

“’S not a stunt. ‘S three friends havin’ dinner. At least, I think we’re friends.”

Roman doesn’t say anything else, although anger is still written across his face. Dean thinks it’s a little weird, how easy-to-read Roman’s face has been lately.

When Seth approaches the table, he stands awkwardly for a few seconds, the tension in the air palpable. Dean rolls his eyes and glares at Roman. “C’mon, Ro, don’t be rude. Scoot over, let ‘im sit.”

With much reluctance, Roman moves over, and Seth settles down on the edge of the seat, looking like he’s prepared to bolt if necessary. “Calm down, princess,” Dean says. “Rome ain’t gonna hurt you.”

Seth scoffs. “I’m fine,” he says, but his body remains tense, belying his words.

Their dinner ends up being fairly awkward, filled with uncomfortable silence and confused, slightly-angry glances that Dean pretends not to notice being exchanged between Seth and Roman. Dean doesn’t even get a reaction out of either of them when he orders the greasiest thing on the menu to be obnoxious and disgusting, which is honestly really disappointing. He likes irritating them.

The only time they really talk is near the end of the meal, when they begin to argue over who’s going to pay for it, and Dean volunteers Roman because “he’s filthy rich ‘n I’m fuckin’ broke.” In the end, Roman’s the one putting his credit card in the bill book, but not without another glare at Dean.

More silence passes between them after that as they wait for the waitress to return, only for Roman to suddenly break the silence. “Excuse me for a second, Seth. I need to talk to Dean,” he says. Seth gives him a questioning look, but gets up so that Roman can slide out of the booth. Dean watches him suspiciously the whole time, not knowing what he’s up to. The plan hasn’t gone very well so far, although Seth and Roman haven’t tried to murder him yet. He’s unsure if that’s what Roman wants now.

He’s fairly sure it is, though, when Roman grabs him by the hair to drag him out of the booth and up onto his feet. “Hey!” Dean protests, shoving at Roman to make him let go, but the other man refuses to let go, even when he starts moving and Dean’s forced to follow.

They make it all the way into the bathroom like that, and Roman lets go of Dean’s hair only to shove him into the biggest stall, following him in after and locking the door behind him. Even with the stall being the biggest there is, there’s still not much room for the two of them, and Dean’s essentially pressed up against Roman, chest-to-chest.

“What the fuck was that for?” Dean snaps, his head still throbbing with mild pain from being dragged around by his hair.

(He won’t admit it turned him on a little bit. Stupid fucking hair-pulling kink.)

“I said no fucking stunts, and you pulled a stunt on me. I’ve got no choice, Dean,” he says with a pause, and Dean’s confused as hell.

“What?”

“I have to punish you.”


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a way to die. He wouldn’t have to worry about it if Roman wasn’t so… perfect.  
> Stupid fucking perfect motherfucker. Dean hates him almost as much as he hates Seth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW content in this chapter: essentially just a fairly detailed blowjob and a little bit of rough foreplay, but there's also some praise kink and bloodplay mixed in. If you're uncomfortable with any of these things, please skip this chapter.
> 
> So today I was having one of those days where I was like 'everything I write is terrible why am I doing this'; if you're a writer, you probably know the feeling. And I was scrolling through the wrassleslashlibrary tumblr, looking for things to read (actually I was looking for Y2AJ fics let's be honest), when I stumbled upon a fic that sounded really familiar... only to find out it was my fic. (Which is really cool, because tbh I've always wanted someone to submit this there... so bless your soul, person who submitted it.) And then I stumbled upon all this praise for this and I got emotional (in a good way) because people apparently actually like what I'm doing. So I stayed up late to post this chapter for all you lovely people who read this fic and heap praise on it or comment or leave kudos or even do nothing but read it. All of you are super important and I love you.
> 
> (P.S. I will gladly accept your sloppy Dean kiss [you know who you are.])

Dean splutters in disbelief. “You _what?”_

“I have to,” Roman says, an excessive amount of patience in his tone, like he’s talking to a child. It infuriates Dean.

“Fuck off,” Dean spits, shoving Roman back, although there’s not much room for him to go. Although he wouldn’t really mind being ‘punished’ by Roman, he refuses to acknowledge that, even if Roman’s offering it to him like he is now. It’s all just a mind-game. Roman’s just trying to fuck with him.

Dean won’t let it work.

Roman raises an eyebrow, studying Dean. “Going to be temperamental?”

“I’m not falling for your bullshit,” Dean states, jabbing a finger at Roman’s chest to punctuate his words. “You think you can fuck with me to get what you want. You think you can fuck with my head, like it ain’t already fucked. You think I’m gonna pick you if you give me what I want. Well, you’re wrong,” he says, and his voice starts subconsciously increasing in volume, although he doesn’t really give a fuck if anyone else hears him, “you’re wrong! ‘Cause I didn’t pick you, Roman, and I didn’t pick Seth either! Cause I’m not fuckin’ pickin’! You got no control over me, you don’t have any fuckin’ say in who I stick my dick in, or anything else that I do! So you can take all your ‘punishing’ bullshit and shove it up your good-lookin’ Samoan ass,” he snaps, and by the end of his rant he’s yelling, and he’s in Roman’s face, their faces no more than a few inches apart. Roman’s become unreadable again, his expressions evidently tucked away safely for the time being, and it just pisses Dean off even more.

So he spits in Roman’s face.

He doesn’t expect Roman to snarl and grab him by the hair again and slam him face-first into the wall, the stall door rattling with the force. Dean laughs breathlessly, feeling Roman’s body pressed against his back and his fingers still tangled in his hair. “You wanna play rough?” he asks, voice a little slurred from his face being pressed into the wall. “I can play rough… but you gotta do better than that. C’mon, hit me, Rome, like I know ya can.”

He doesn’t expect Roman to do it, but again, Roman surprises him, the pain he feels in his face and the hot coppery taste in his mouth confirming that he’s just been punched and the inside of his cheek has been busted open, splitting open on the surface of his teeth.

He smiles, tilting his head to spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor. “See, I knew ya could do it.” Roman’s fingers tighten in his hair and pull, yanking his head back, forcing his gaze up to the ceiling and revealing the column of his neck. Dean sighs a little shuddery sigh as he feels Roman’s lips pressing against his neck, almost apologetic.

“Should do it again,” he mumbles, leaning in to Roman’s touch. “Cause this ain’t me givin’ up… ‘s me takin’ a break.”

“No,” Roman answers, and the answer disappoints Dean.

Well, if Roman won’t do it again willingly, then Dean’ll make him do it.

As soon as Roman pulls back, fingers loosening in his hair, Dean tilts his head down and then brings it back up forcefully, smacking Roman right in the face with the back of his head. Roman stumbles back a little bit, giving Dean just enough space to turn around and slam him up against the opposite wall, grinning wickedly at him.

“You let your guard down, Rome,” he says, pressing in and nipping at Roman’s neck, receiving a low moan for his efforts. “Who’s the one dominatin’ here? Cause I thought _you_ were in charge… but I dunno, Ro, sure feels like I’m in charge. Feels like you’re givin’ in.”

“Never,” Roman responds, and before Dean even gets a chance to prod at him verbally some more, he’s shoved down onto his knees, wincing slightly at the pain that shoots up through his legs as his knees meet the tile floor.

He looks up, realizing he’s now eye-level with Roman’s crotch, and smirks. “’S more like it. But if you wanted me to suck your dick, you shoulda just asked.”

Dean feels Roman’s fingers slip into his hair again, pulling to tilt his head upwards so his eyes meet Roman’s.

“Do I need to shut your ass up?” Roman asks. Dean smiles, all sharp-edged and taunting.

“Maybe; I ‘unno, think it’s a lot more borin’ when you’re talkin’. My voice really brings life to a room, but yours kills all the life in a room. Jus’ sayin’.”

It’s a boldfaced lie; Dean honestly thinks he could get off on the sound of Roman’s voice alone, especially that low rumble Dean loves to hate, but he’s got no intention of making Roman’s ego any bigger than it is already.

Roman calls his bluff. “I’m not so sure about that. You looked like you were about to come in your pants just from me talkin’ to you yesterday,” he says, and Dean scowls.

“Fuck you,” he mutters.

“You wish,” Roman counters, and even though it’s the most childish retort he’s ever heard, it still pisses Dean off.

“Are you gonna put your fuckin’ dick in my mouth or not? Cause if not, this is a fuckin’ waste of my time,” Dean snaps, rocking back on his heels to squint at Roman. “I could be usin’ this time to fuck Seth or somethin’. So get on with it.”

Roman narrows his eyes, but his hands move to his belt, slowly unbuckling it.

“ _Finally,_ ” Dean says overdramatically, his eyes now fixed on Roman’s hands. “Took ya long enough.”

He waits impatiently as Roman unbuttons and unzips his pants, pushing them down to his knees. He starts drumming his fingertips along the top of his thighs, watching Roman’s hands move to the waistband of his boxers, thumbs slipping underneath, then stopping.

A few seconds pass in which nothing happens; Dean doesn’t move, his hands stilling over his thighs, and Roman doesn’t move, and the two of them are silent, and then Dean explodes.

“The fuck did you stop for?” he asks, flicking his gaze back up to Roman’s face, eyes narrowing in suspicion, lip curling in distaste. “I’m sittin’ here, all ready ‘n willin’ to suck your dick, and you gotta waste my time by takin’ _forever_ to get your fuckin’ pants off, and then you stop? Your dick should be halfway down my fuckin’ throat by now. But instead, you’re takin’ your time like a fuckin’ old person. Did you change your mind or somethin’? Cause I’m pretty sure I can find another dick to suck, y’know. A dick attached to a person who won’t waste my time talkin’ bullshit ‘n takin’ forever to get their pants down.”

He yelps in surprise when, having expected Roman to shove his boxers down and stick his dick in his mouth already, he ends up being pulled back to his feet with Roman’s hand in his hair again, and the feeling is starting to hurt more than turn him on and he’s pretty sure he’s going to lose a good chunk of hair this way.

Fucking asshole.

“I have a hand, y’know. I need my fuckin’ hair,” he gripes, staring at Roman expectantly. The corners of Roman’s lips are pulled down in a frown, his eyes dark once more.

“See, this is what I mean,” Roman says, his voice low, and Dean shifts his weight in a poor attempt to conceal his interest. “You never shut up. Someone needs to shut you up.”

“Then do it,” Dean challenges. “Shut me up, Ro. Shut me up real good.”

“Gladly,” Roman growls in response, and their heads nearly collide as Roman leans in to kiss him.

It’s a heavy, forceful kiss that reminds him faintly of the kisses he usually has with Seth; rough and insistent like a fight, both of them wanting to be in control. Dean bites at Roman’s lip and brings a hand up to cup his jaw, stroking a thumb absently over the rough stubble of his beard.

The kiss is far shorter than Dean would like, but he refuses to voice that thought, instead grinning tauntingly at Roman when the other man pulls away. “You can do better than that, Rome. C’mon. I said shut me up _real_ good.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Fuck yeah. I wanna see if you can try. No one’s ever been able to shut me up before,” he says, smirking.

“Then I’ll be the first,” Roman says, placing one hand on his shoulder, the warmth and pressure oddly comforting. He uses that hand to force Dean back down onto his knees, the pain from his knees hitting the tile flaring up again and making Dean hiss through gritted teeth.

“Then get your fuckin’ dick out already,” Dean snaps, peering up at Roman’s face, any semblance of patience he may have had previously now lost.

Roman makes a noise that’s tinged with disapproval. “So used to gettin’ your way. What would you do if you didn’t always get what you wanted?”

Is he fucking serious?

Dean’s going to punch him in the dick if he doesn’t get said dick out of his boxers and in his mouth in the next 0.3 seconds.

“Shut the fuck up with your psychology crap and stick your fuckin’ dick in my mouth or I swear to God or Jesus or whoever the hell it is, I will get up and walk out of here and suck Seth’s dick. Or someone else’s dick. Anyone’s dick other than yours.”

Roman sighs, apparently finally relenting as he hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers to push them down and free his half-hard cock.

Dean may or may not gape. Roman’s fucking _huge,_ both thick and long, and of course it makes sense for someone with a perfect face and perfect hair and perfect abs and a perfect ass to also have a perfect dick, but it’s also not _fair_ and Dean’s kind of worried he might choke to death on it.

What a way to die. He wouldn’t have to worry about it if Roman wasn’t so… perfect.

Stupid fucking perfect motherfucker. Dean hates him almost as much as he hates Seth.

His apprehension must shine through to his face, because Roman’s face softens as he looks down at him, and he feels Roman’s fingers combing through his hair with a gentle touch, almost petting him.

“You don’t have to, Dean,” he says softly, while Dean’s trying to squash the urge to lean into Roman’s touch.

“Fuck you, I’m gonna suck your dick and it’s gonna be the best damn blowjob you’ve ever had,” he states defiantly. He’s never backed down from a challenge before, so why start now?  

Roman smiles, looking almost fondly at him. “Then just… tap if you need to stop, okay?”

“This ain’t a fuckin’ wrestling match, Rome, this is a fuckin’ blowjob. This ain’t a wrestling ring, it’s a fuckin’ bathroom. So I ain’t tappin’, I ain’t submittin’,” he says matter-of-factly, frowning at Roman.

“ _Dean_ ,” Roman says, and he sounds exasperated.

“Fine, fine, I’ll do your pansy-ass tappin’ bullshit. Just lemme suck your dick already.”

He’s finally satisfied when Roman’s hand slips out of his hair to grab his jaw and angle his face slightly upward, holding him steady, and Dean opens his mouth obediently, allowing Roman to push into his mouth.

His first thought is that it hurts.

It feels like his mouth is being split open, his jaw and lips aching from the stretch, and wetness is prickling at the corner of his eyes, and he’s going to drool all over himself and look like a fucking idiot, but it’s a good kind of hurt. He feels his cock throb in his jeans, and he presses a hand down on his crotch, only for Roman to _tsk_ at him disapprovingly.

“No touching,” he says. “Unless I tell you to. Which I haven’t.”

Dean musters up the best glare he can give while having his mouth stuffed full of Roman’s dick, pointing it directly at him with minimal success.

Asshole.

His second thought is his realization that it’s been a fairly long time since he last sucked dick. It’s been at least a year, maybe longer; there were some people he’d fucked around with occasionally back in Cincinnati, spending weekends in a haze of sex and drugs and booze, but he had a nasty falling-out with them shortly before he moved to Florida and he hasn’t really given since then, just taken.

There’s a tiny voice at the back of his head musing about how it’s nice to finally give again.

He thinks he’s adjusted to the size of Roman’s dick and starts attempting to lick at him, and Roman moans softly, hand sliding up from his jaw and back into Dean’s hair, fingers curling loosely around the strands. Dean continues his efforts, sliding his tongue all over Roman’s cock obscenely, as if he’s licking a lollipop. He starts sucking in earnest, tipping forward slightly to get more in his mouth, until the head is bumping the back of his throat, making his eyes water.

“You doing okay?” Roman asks, and Dean attempts his best glare again, because _of course_ he is, why would he even ask such a stupid thing. It’s not like he’s never sucked dick before. “Just making sure,” Roman adds, apparently an attempt to placate Dean, what with his glare. 

Dean slowly pulls off of Roman’s cock, trying to ignore the spit that’s collected at the corners of his mouth, a string of it connecting his lips and the head of Roman’s cock even as he pulls away. “I’m _fine,_ ” he says, and he’s surprised by how raw and abused his voice sounds, as if he’s just been brutally mouth-fucked until he choked.

(Which doesn’t sound all that bad if Roman’s the one doing it.)

“If you say so,” Roman responds, sounding entirely unconvinced.

Dean narrows his eyes and points an accusing finger at him. “You need to shut up. You talk too damn much. So shut your mouth or I ain’t gonna finish ya off.”

Roman looks a little taken aback, but he regains his composure easily, that unaffected façade sliding into place in a few short moments. “I think you’ve forgotten who’s in charge here,” he says. “You’re not in charge; I am. So _you_ should be the one shutting up.”

Dean grumbles his disagreement, but complies, silencing himself by taking Roman’s cock back into his mouth and continuing his previous administrations. He sucks for a while, listening to Roman’s moans of pleasure and soft words of encouragement, until his jaw is aching from his attempts to make any more suction. Still determined to get Roman off, he starts trying to take him deeper, until both of his hands make a fist in Dean’s hair and tug him to a stop. Dean glances up at Roman, not understanding why he’d been stopped.

“Didn’t I say I was gonna fuck your mouth?” Roman asks, and Dean hums his agreement, doing a mental fist-pump at the stuttered groan that falls from Roman’s lips as a result. A few seconds pass before Roman speaks again, apparently needing time to regain his composure. “I can’t fuck your mouth if you’re doin’ all the work.”

Dean grants him his best challenging look, the one that says _‘go for it’,_ because he’s decided he would really like Roman to fuck his mouth, the sooner the better.

Apparently, Roman knows him well enough that he recognizes the look, and he smiles warmly, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and Dean’s heart does a weird thing in his chest.

His heart is fucked. Just like the rest of him.

“Remember, tap if you need to, okay?” Dean rolls his eyes but attempts a nod anyway, wanting to get to the action already. He shifts his weight slightly, placing his hands on Roman’s legs to steady himself, subconsciously starting to tap a familiar rhythm on Roman’s thighs.

When the other man pushes forward slightly, sending his cock even deeper down Dean’s throat, Dean chokes a little bit, his body tensing, and his hands scrabble at Roman’s legs, like he’s looking for something to anchor him, and Roman stills and soothes him, murmuring softly about how good he’s doing and scratching his fingers along Dean’s scalp, and eventually Dean relaxes, pressing his thumbs into Roman’s thighs in an attempt to tell him it’s okay to continue.

Slowly, little by little, Roman pushes forward until all of his cock is in Dean’s mouth, his nose pressed into the sinewy curve over Roman’s pubic bone. Dean’s almost dizzy with the feeling, his mouth stretched so impossibly wide, his throat feeling so full that he has to take slow, deep breaths in through his nose to avoid choking again, and he’s achingly hard and desperately _wanting,_ but he doesn’t know what he wants.

He just wants.

“Look at you,” Roman murmurs, voice tinged with awe and something else, something that Dean would describe as love if he didn’t know any better. “Fuck. You’re so good, Dean.”

Something in him preens at the praise, and it should be more embarrassing for him to realize that he may have a tiny bit of a praise kink, but it doesn’t feel that embarrassing.

“Can I?” Roman asks, and Dean attempts another nod, because Roman’s offering him what he wants, and even though it’s too good to be true and will definitely never, ever happen again, he’ll take it while he can get it.

He wants Roman to use him.

Being used is the only way he feels truly appreciated anymore.

So he lets Roman slowly pull out, pulling back until only the head of his cock rests in Dean’s mouth, and then his fingers tighten in Dean’s hair and he pushes back in so that Dean feels stuffed full again. He starts a rhythm of that, pulling back slowly and almost completely, then pushing in slowly and completely, and the slow, burning pace makes Dean’s cock throb urgently in his jeans, and he feels dizzy again.

Dean goes almost limp, his eyes half-lidded as he watches Roman concentrate on his work, making Dean’s body sway slightly with the force of his thrusts. He digs his fingernails into Roman’s thighs, simultaneously clutching at him for support and marking him as Roman pulls out and pushes in, pulls out and pushes in.

He’s thinking vaguely about how he could probably rock against his hand a few times and come in his jeans off this alone (which should be even more embarrassing than finding out he has a praise kink, but for some reason, neither of the two are drawing any real embarrassment out of him) when he hears the bathroom door swing open, and it’s enough to jolt him out of his lust-induced stupor, his blood running cold.

Roman freezes, knowing just as well as Dean does that even with the stall door shut and locked, they’ve been caught.

Hearing the familiar voice doesn’t help; if anything, it makes the situation even worse.

“You two really think you could just leave me behind and fuck around in the bathroom?”

Seth.

Dean is so fucked, in the worst way possible.

“At first, I figured I’d let you two go off, sort out whatever it was Roman wanted,” Seth continues, evidently not expecting a response to his question. “But then you were gone for five minutes. And then ten minutes. And then fifteen minutes.”

_Has it really been that long?_

“By the time you guys had been gone for twenty minutes, I thought I’d go see what the hell you two were up to. I mean, it was obvious, because no one’s in the bathroom for that long, and no guy _ever_ literally drags another guy into the bathroom unless they’re going to fuck or at least do something sexual.”

“We’re not doing anything,” Roman says, obviously trying to act nonchalant, but Dean’s internally cringing at how horrible Roman’s choice line of defense is.

Roman should just stick to being all handsome and Greek god-esque and leave the talking to him.

“Bullshit,” Seth responds, and his voice is getting closer, like he’s approaching their stall. “I can see Dean’s knees, Roman. I wasn’t born yesterday; I know what you’re doing.”

Dean presses his fingernails harder into Roman’s thighs, some anxiety and tension starting to mount, because this is definitely _not_ how he wanted to execute his plan; it’s going all wrong and it’s going to ruin the weird arrangement he seems to have with each of them if he doesn’t get it back on track soon.

The next sentence out of Seth’s mouth jerks him out of his thoughts and back into the present, surprising both him and Roman, the two of them looking equally astonished.

“I want to watch.”


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman sighs, his voice sounding fondly exasperated in a way when he speaks. “Seth, don’t cum in his hair.”  
> “No promises,” is the slightly out-of-breath response that earns, and Dean blatantly flips Seth the bird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW content in this chapter: a sort-of threesome that involves a blowjob and some voyeurism/exhibitionism. If you're uncomfortable with any of these things, please skip this chapter.
> 
> (This took FOREVER to write. Threesomes are hard. [pun not intended])

Roman’s silent for a while, considering, studying Dean with that odd look that he hates being unable to read.

“It’s only fair, since you two tried to ditch me,” Seth says, and the kid’s got a point.

Finally, Roman speaks, but it’s not a direct answer to the unspoken question Seth had asked. “What do you think, Dean?” he asks, one hand slipping out of Dean’s hair to cup his jaw with an unusual tenderness, his thumb stroking over Dean’s cheekbone. “You want him to watch?”

Everything inside of Dean is screaming _yes._ Yes, yes, yes. He wants Seth to watch, wants Seth to see Roman use him like a toy solely meant for his own pleasure. (That really should concern him, but there’s still a haze of lust in the back of his head that’s clouding the majority of his judgment, and he knows dimly that he’ll regret this later.)

He definitely wants Seth to watch. But, just to be stubborn, he shakes his head no.

Roman actually looks surprised, but he doesn’t push it. “Dean says no,” he calls out to Seth.

Just beyond the door, Dean can hear Seth’s disgruntled scoff. “He’s lying. You and I both know damn well what he wants.”

Seth is an asshole.

Roman looks back down at Dean, scrutinizing him once more. Dean shifts uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze, caught between wanting Roman to continue what they’d been doing before they’d been so rudely interrupted and wanting Seth to come in and see his mouth being fucked and him getting off solely on the thought of Roman using him in such a way.

“Dean, tell me what you honestly want,” Roman murmurs, and Dean willingly leans into his gentle touch this time. “I just want to give you what you want. So do you want him to watch? Do you want him to see you being so good for me?”

 _Yes yes yes yes yes,_ his mind is chanting, with a ‘ _please’_ thrown in there somewhere. He’s so hard that he’s convinced he’s going to get blue balls if he doesn’t get touched within the next few minutes, and his knees are starting to hurt and his jaw and lips and the cheek that Roman punched all hurt like a motherfucker, but he can think of nothing else that he currently wants more.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he tips his head forward in the tiniest nod he can manage, finally giving in to a desire he’ll later pretend he never had.

“Is that a yes?” Roman asks, and Dean tips his head forward again, trying his hardest to indicate that _yes,_ he wants what’s being offered. Roman smiles again, that warm smile that makes Dean feel like someone’s stepping on his chest. “Good boy,” Roman murmurs, and Dean doesn’t know why that one sentence makes sharp heat rush through his veins, but it does.

“Dean changed his mind,” Roman calls out, the pressure of the hand that had been stroking Dean’s jaw and cheek disappearing as he reaches for the door.

“Of course he did,” is Seth’s response, and Dean squeezes his eyes shut, because for some reason, he feels his anxiety resurfacing, pushing its way past the cloud of lust in his mind to settle uncomfortably in the front of his mind and in the pit of his stomach.

“Don’t worry, baby boy,” he hears Roman murmur in a low, comforting tone. “He’s gonna love it, I promise. And I love how good you’re bein’.” His words erase some of the anxiety that Dean feels, but some still lingers, bothering him just enough to make him experience discomfort from it. He keeps his eyes shut, breathing in slowly and deeply through his nose as he hears the _click_ of the lock being undone and the creak of the stall door opening.

“ _Jesus,_ ” Dean hears, and that’s Seth, behind him, murmuring the word softly with a hint of awe. “God, he looks… he looks great.” He feels fingers running through his hair, and having decided to trust his instincts for the time being, he leans into the touch, realizing belatedly that the fingers running through his hair belong to Seth.

Just for a moment, he wonders what the hell he’s doing, wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into, but when he hears the low, gravelly tone of Roman’s voice lavishing him with praise once more, all possible regrets and doubts slip from his mind.

“He’s so good at this,” Roman says. “I don’t know why I waited—“ The rest of his sentence is lost in a moan as Dean pops his eyes open and starts tonguing Roman’s shaft, taking advantage of the distraction Seth caused.

If he’s got a dick in his mouth, better do something with it, he thinks.

“ _Fuck,_ Dean,” Roman hisses when Dean sucks particularly hard, having pulled back just enough to be able to suck at him. He’s taking control again; Seth, for once, was helpful, distracting Roman just enough to make him stop in the midst of fucking Dean’s mouth, giving Dean the opportunity to take over. “That’s it, baby boy. Just like that.”

Dean’s allowed to suck for a while longer, until he feels a sharp tug to his hair, and he glances upward to find Roman staring down at him, a dark heat smoldering in his eyes.

“I wanna fuck your mouth again,” Roman says simply, and Dean hears a choked sort of gasp from behind him, followed shortly by the telltale sound of a belt unbuckling, like Seth fully intends to get off on their late-night bathroom debauchery. The thought is oddly amusing, and even though Dean tries to suppress it (to no avail), his body shakes with silent laughter.

Roman raises an eyebrow at him. “What’s so funny?”

He pulls off of Roman’s cock to respond, only dimly aware of the drool slicking his chin and his lips. “This guy,” he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Seth, “just standin’ there, jerkin’ off.” He’s honestly surprised by how raspy and hoarse his voice sounds; he could compete with Roman for the most gravelly tone, with his voice like this.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Maybe, kinda. But if he jerks off, he’s gonna get his cum in my hair and that’ll be gross as fuck. Do you even _know_ how hard it is to get cum out of hair?”

The blank look Roman gives him tells him that no, Roman doesn’t know.

“Whatever,” Dean huffs, mildly irritated by Roman’s lack of logic.

Roman sighs, his voice sounding fondly exasperated in a way when he speaks. “Seth, don’t come in his hair.”

“No promises,” is the slightly out-of-breath response that earns, and Dean blatantly flips Seth the bird.

“Asshole. I’ll come in _your_ hair, see how you like it,” Dean retorts.

“I’d like to see you try,” Seth responds, voice shaky, and Dean grins, because that’s definitely a challenge he’ll win.

“Can you two not fight? We’re having a… thing, here,” Roman says, still sounding exasperated, but as Dean notes, he’s still hard, hard enough that pre-cum is beading at the head of his cock and mixing with the saliva Dean’s left behind.

He really wants to taste it.

“A threesome. ‘S what we’re havin’,” Dean supplies helpfully, just before he swoops in and laps at the head of Roman’s cock, licking up his pre-cum.

“Thank y— _fuck,”_ is what comes out of Roman’s mouth next, and Dean’s kind of really liking the way he can make Roman lose his train of thought, forget what he was going to say in favor of whatever pleasure-laced profanity he finds hiding under the tip of his tongue.

“Please, Dean,” Roman says, voice tinged with desperation, and oh how the tables have turned.

Dean will let it slide just this once.

He pulls back, settling back down, and grins at Roman.

“Sure thing, Ro. Go on, fuck my mouth,” he says, letting his mouth fall open to prove his offering, tongue lolling out like a dog. It’s all the encouragement Roman needs, and Dean receives only the smallest warning by means of Roman’s fingers tightening in his hair, the sensation wobbling on the border between pain and pleasure, before Roman is pushing into his mouth in one smooth thrust, and Dean just barely avoids choking, because now Roman is definitely taking what he wants, pushing in and pulling out with rapid, erratic thrusts that make Dean’s throat feel raw and abused.

Dean kinda likes the feeling.

He’s obedient, staying as still as he can as Roman uses him, eyes becoming half-lidded as each thrust sends a new spark of lust pooling in his stomach. He’s so hard it’s starting to hurt, and his fingers are twitching, just barely able to control the urge to shove his hand in his jeans and get himself off. Behind him, he can hear the sound of skin on skin, all the evidence he needs that Seth’s getting off to the show they’re putting on.

A part of him wonders if he could get Roman to jerk off to the image of him fucking Seth.

It doesn’t take much more for Roman to come, and he does with a loud groan, his cock pressed so deeply into Dean’s mouth that he’s forced to swallow, and he chokes and splutters more than once, but he manages not to spill a drop. Dean pulls back after that, letting Roman’s cock slip out of his mouth as he presses his palm to the crotch of his jeans, feeling his own neglected cock twitch in response. He feels like his arousal is going to burst out of him, all heady and potent and _so_ deliciously wrong. Fortunately, Roman’s too busy coming down from the high of his orgasm to notice his not-so-subtle touches.

Just behind him, he hears a quiet whimper that evolves into a low, drawn-out moan, and Dean’s fucked around with Seth enough to know that it’s the noise he makes when he comes.

(He skims the fingertips of his free hand through his hair after that, just to be sure Seth didn’t come in his hair.)

Dean looks down at his cheap jeans and begins to unbuckle his belt, wanting nothing more than to get himself off. He’s gotten his belt unbuckled, the button of his jeans undone, and he’s lowering the zipper when he hears the distinctive sound of wet, open-mouthed kisses. He jerks his head up in surprise, and he finds that somehow, Seth has managed to squeeze in front of him, and—

Holy fucking shit.

_Holy fucking shit._

Seth and Roman are kissing, all slow and heated, and Roman’s arm is curled over the back of Seth’s neck, and Seth’s hand is splayed out on Roman’s chest, and it may be the hottest fucking thing Dean Ambrose has ever seen in his twenty-six years of life, and he nearly comes right then and there.

He licks his palm and promptly shoves his hand into his underwear, grasping his cock and stroking with needy, rapid movements, and it only takes a few strokes before he’s coming, his whole body shaking and the most pathetic-sounding whimper falling from his lips as he soaks his underwear with his cum.

He nearly collapses in a heap after he comes, feeling boneless. Seth and Roman break apart and look at him with nearly identical dopey grins on their faces, but they’re all silent, and the only sound that can be heard is the sound of Dean’s drawn-out, heaving breaths.

A few minutes pass like that before Roman speaks.

“You know I’m gonna have to punish you again for touching yourself, right?”


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dean,” Seth says, and he’s vaguely aware of Seth’s hand curling over his forearm, but he’s pissed, and no amount of small, subtle touches from the deceptive twink known as Seth Rollins is going to make him any less pissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's breathplay in this chapter, near the end; please tread carefully.

Dean shows up at the following week’s taping, even though he doesn’t have a match. Roman’s got a title match against the current Florida Heavyweight Champion, and Dean wants to see it, because he’ll experience _so_ much secondhand embarrassment if Roman doesn’t win. The skill of the current titleholder is nonexistent, in Dean’s opinion (and really, Dean’s opinion is the only thing that matters).

And if Roman doesn’t win, then hey, Dean can rub the loss in his face for the next three weeks.

But of course, Roman will probably remind him that he beat Dean _and_ Seth, in one match.

Bastard.

Dean’s rounding the corner in the hallway to the locker room on his way to look for Roman, hoping to catch him before his match (primarily to interrogate him over what happened on Sunday, but also maybe to make him lose his focus by making out with him a little… or a lot), when he collides with another body, the impact knocking him on his ass on the floor.

“Watch where you’re going, asshole,” he snaps before he even gets a good look at the guy, thinking that he might have to punch some sense into him. He climbs to his feet, making a big show of dusting himself off (Jesus Christ, he’s turning into Seth), and finally, he chances a glance at the other guy, only to find that the pair of eyes staring back at him uncertainly belong to no other than Seth Rollins. Dean wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Shoulda known it was you, you always have your head up your ass,” he quips.

“I was looking for you,” Seth says, and he sounds so _timid_ , and it’s really fucking weird and unsettling. Dean kind of wants his cocky-asshole Seth back.

“Well, you found me. S’pose ‘s not what you meant, though. What do you want?”

Seth steps closer, most definitely invading Dean’s personal space, and his fingers are toying with the hem of Dean’s shirt, twisting it and turning it like he’s a nervous child.

“Get off of me,” Dean mutters, but he doesn’t bother pushing Seth away. He waits impatiently for Seth to say something, anything, to start running his mouth like he’s used to, bragging about his skills or his (former) championship or how big his dick is. But Seth doesn’t say anything, just keeps fidgeting with the hem of Dean’s shirt, staring at him with what he swears is fear in those big brown eyes.

“Are ya gonna talk, or do I have to beat it out of you?” Dean asks, halfway between perplexed and irritated at Seth’s strange behavior. Seth inhales deeply, and then he finally speaks.

“I talked to my girlfriend.” The statement sends an uncomfortable feeling Dean doesn’t want to name rippling through him.

“What, you tell her about our little _rendezvous_ , huh? The one with all three of us? Or did you tell her about when it was just the two of us? When you came to my door and fuckin’ begged me to fuck you? Or when you acted like a fuckin’ robot in the ring just ‘cause you wanted a ‘treat’ from me?” Dean doesn’t miss the way Seth’s cheeks tint red, the other man ducking his head for a moment, as if he’s embarrassed.

Good.

“Not really. I, um… just told her that we… y’know, kinda did stuff.”

Dean grins maliciously. “Does she know you like takin’ a dick up the ass?”

“ _Dean,_ ” Seth says urgently, whipping his head back and forth like he’s paranoid someone is listening in on their conversation.

“Chill, princess,” Dean says, reaching out and patting him on the head derisively. “Keep talkin’, no one heard me.”

“She already knows I’m bi. But, uh, she said it was okay for us to do stuff. Said she ‘doesn’t see you as a threat.’ Stuff just has to be no strings attached,” Seth explains, and Dean does his best to ignore the hot flash of offense he feels at the statement that Seth’s high and mighty girlfriend “doesn’t see him as a threat.”

“Doesn’t see me as a threat, huh? ‘S what everyone says,” he mumbles, mostly to himself. Then, to Seth, he says, “Of course it’s no strings attached. Why wouldn’t it be? Who fuckin’ suggested there were any strings in the first place?”

“Dean,” Seth says, and he’s vaguely aware of Seth’s hand curling over his forearm, but he’s _pissed,_ and no amount of small, subtle touches from the deceptive twink known as Seth Rollins is going to make him any less pissed.

“What makes you think I give a fuck about you?” he snarls, and maybe there’s more venom in his tone than he intended there to be, because Seth flinches back a little, but he just keeps going. “Just ‘cause we had a fuckin’ threesome doesn’t mean anything’s changed. You’re still just somethin’ for me to stick my dick in. You don’t mean shit to me. Never have, never will.”

“Dean,” Seth repeats, but Dean isn’t willing to listen to Seth right now.

“Get off of me,” he says, shoving Seth away forcefully, causing him to stumble backwards a few steps before he catches himself. “And for now… stay the fuck outta my sight.”

There’s something churning uncomfortably in his gut when he leaves Seth alone, the result of a feeling Dean absolutely refuses to name, mixing with the anger throbbing in his veins and the voice in the back of his head whispering that he was lying.

* * *

His anger has yet to cease when he finds Roman warming up for his match, although it lessens slightly when Roman spots him and flashes him his signature ridiculously handsome smile.

“Hey, Rome,” Dean greets, leaning up against the locker beside Roman’s as he watches Roman continue to warm up, admittedly leering at certain parts of Roman’s body. “Wanted to ask you somethin’.”

“Go for it,” Roman replies easily without so much as a glance at him. Dean kind of envies his casual coolness.

“How come you pitched such a fit about kissin’ Seth when I asked ya to do it, and then all of a sudden, you do it willingly right after gettin’ your dick sucked?” It’s a legitimate question that’s been bothering Dean since it happened; he knows Roman’s up to something, and he’s determined to figure out what it is.

Roman pauses, turning to stare at Dean with that unreadable expression of his, like he’s shut Dean out already. That thought only serves to make the anger he felt earlier relight itself, burning insistently within him.

The stare eventually dissolves into a long, exasperated-sounding sigh. “Do we have to talk about it?”

“Yes, we have to talk about it,” Dean says, the corners of his lips pulling down into a frown as he crosses his arms over his chest. “What the fuck happened?”

“Heat of the moment thing,” is the mumbled response Dean receives, tossed over Roman’s shoulder like the shitty excuse it is.

“Bullshit!” Dean spits. “Fuckin’ tell me what the hell’s up with that! Are you and Seth fuckin’ or somethin’? Cause if you are, you should just fuckin’ say it, instead of hiding behind your stupid fuckin’ mask of a face!”

He evidently sets something off in Roman, because in what can accurately be described as no more than half a second later, he’s slammed up against the lockers, his shoulderblades digging into the cold metal as the heat of Roman’s body pins him there, one of Roman’s hands at his throat, fingers curled around it but not digging in, a small reprieve he’s actually grateful for.

Roman’s eyes are alight with what Dean can only describe as fire as he speaks, and it’s actually kinda hot. “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he says, his voice low and ice-cold, and Dean finds himself thinking that in another world, Roman would’ve killed him already. “I don’t have to explain myself to anyone. _Especially_ not you. I’ll do whatever I fucking please, and it’s not your business, so stop trying to make it your business. Just stay out of it and let me do my own damn thing, you understand?”

The way Roman can switch from warm and friendly and gentle to ice-cold and probably murderous in approximately 0.5 seconds is disorienting, but it’s highly entertaining for Dean (and maybe a little arousing, but he won’t admit it to Roman).

“I understand,” he says, grinning mockingly at Roman, and Roman’s eyes narrow, and the look Roman gives him sends an unexpected flare of heat through his body.

Then the fingers that are wrapped around Dean’s throat squeeze, and Dean chokes a little bit as his air is suddenly cut off, and he feels the tiniest flash of panic within him, but it’s snuffed out almost immediately by a surprising flood of warmth within him, something in him telling him that this is good, this is _right._

He’s pretty sure he’s on the verge of passing out, his lungs screaming for air and his vision starting to narrow, when Roman lets go and steps back. Dean slides down to the floor, his legs essentially giving out as he sucks in deep lungfuls of air. He finally tips his head up to meet Roman’s gaze, and Roman’s looking oddly satisfied, a smirk curling up the corner of his lips.

“I’ll see you later,” Roman says, turning and leaving Dean alone, and all Dean can think about is how there’s the slightest bulge in his jeans that wasn’t there before, and how it shouldn’t be there, but then again, he’s always been a sick man.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And he fucking hates it. He fucking hates Seth Rollins and he fucking hates Roman Reigns and he fucking hates his fucked up, deluded brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been thinking about creating a side Tumblr solely for writing, but I want to know everyone's opinion first.  
> I was thinking you guys could send prompts there (cause I get stuck a lot and need to write something else to get out of it), or we could chat about fics and ships, or... something.  
> This was supposed to be a really intelligent-sounding proposition, idk what happened.  
> Thoughts?

Even though Dean’s a little pissed at Roman, he stays to watch the match anyway, thinking that if Roman actually wins, it’ll give him a different target to go after, rather than being forced to always go back to Seth.

Roman doesn’t win the match, but Dean finds himself actually sort of impressed anyway. Roman’s absolutely beautiful in the ring (and Dean’s going to pretend he never thought that), his unwavering resilience even as exhaustion bore down on him, even as blood threatened to spill, incredible.

Dean snickers just a little fondly when Roman snatches the championship belt from the referee before the referee can give it to the actual champion, remembering how he’d done almost the same thing months before with the manhandling of the FCW 15 Championship medal in retaliation for his ‘loss’ against Seth.

Maybe, just maybe, he actually means something to Roman.

* * *

He doesn’t bother to show up the next week, having no match and no promo to do. He doesn’t feel like dealing with Roman’s stupidly good-looking face, doesn’t feel like dealing with the pretty brat that is Seth Rollins.

They can have each other, for all he cares. He’s almost 100% sure they’re already fucking anyway.

(He tries his best to ignore the slight burn in his chest he feels at the thought of the two of them fucking without him, the burn of something that feels like longing or jealousy, both of which have no place being there in regards to how he feels about Seth or Roman. They’ve fucking corrupted him.)

* * *

He has to show up the week after that, because he’s got a match (a fairly insignificant one against a guy he’s never seen before, even though he’s been there for 8 months).

Something must have changed in the time he’s been gone, because he rounds the corner of the locker room after changing into his ring gear and stuffing everything haphazardly in his locker, only to stumble upon Seth and Roman talking to the general manager.

That’s not what bothers him, of course. He couldn’t care less about the general manager; she’s threatened him on multiple occasions, but he knows she knows how valuable he is to the company, how firing him would leave them stranded and helpless and struggling. Even Seth and Roman wouldn’t be able to save the company if he was gone.

No, what bothers Dean is the sight of Seth and Roman. Because it looks like Roman’s doing all the talking, and Seth’s curled into his side, one arm wrapped around him and his other hand clutching the side closest to him, and Roman’s arm is draped over Seth’s shoulders, fingers curled possessively over the top of Seth’s arm.

He halts in his tracks and gapes, and thankfully, Roman doesn’t see him, even though Dean’s facing him, but Seth sees him. Their eyes meet, and Seth’s eyes narrow, and he presses in closer to Roman, and Roman, on what appears to be instinct, presses a kiss into Seth’s hair.

That burn in Dean’s chest returns, more intense than it had been previously, and Dean feels disgusted and jealous and _wanting_ all at once, and he clenches his hands into fists and tries valiantly not to break something as Seth smirks at him.

(He fails, of course, but he’ll lie and say that the framed picture he stole from the general manager’s office attacked him when he’s later confronted about the shards of glass scattered across the locker room floor.)

* * *

Dean wins his match easily, his opponent tapping out to the simplest of submission holds after Dean thoroughly takes his frustration with Roman and Seth out on the guy. It’s almost laughable how short the match is, although Dean’s doing anything but laughing when he heads down the hallway toward the locker room after the match.

He’d been thrown off his game by an encounter he’d had with Roman and Seth before his match; Seth had a match just before his, and when Dean had headed backstage to wait for his own match to be announced, he’d found Roman, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, like he was waiting for something or someone.

He’d stared at Roman for a while until Roman turned his head and locked eyes with Dean, and then Roman had given him such a long, hard, scrutinizing look that he’d felt like Roman was tearing him open and examining him inside and out, seeing every part of him, the good and the bad and everything Dean didn’t want him to see.

Seth had appeared, then, pushing through the curtain with an air of self-confidence that Dean could practically smell, like he was on top of the fucking world and he wanted to make sure everyone knew it. He’d only given Dean the slightest glance, focusing his attention on Roman almost immediately, who smiled at him with that warm smile Dean might be growing to hate (especially if it’s not directed towards him) and pushed off the wall, ambling over to Seth and throwing an arm over his shoulders.

They’d left Dean alone like that, walking down the hallway attached to each other in a way that made Dean sick. And when they were gone, when Dean was reeling with a whirlwind of unfamiliar and unwanted emotions, he’d shouted every curse he knew, kicked the wall until his shoes were scuffed and he was on the verge of breaking a toe or two.

Because Seth and Roman being so close, acting _affectionate,_ makes him want to tear everything apart, makes him want to fuck up every single thing he can find until it’s all as fucked up as he feels.

Because the sight of the two of them together shouldn’t make him feel like he wants that, like he wants to know how it feels to be enveloped in them, like the only thing that’s wrong about it is the fact that he isn’t in the center.

And he fucking hates it. He fucking hates Seth Rollins and he fucking hates Roman Reigns and he fucking hates his fucked up, deluded brain.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “’S no god, just me. And, actually, I died and am now hauntin’ your ass in the afterlife.”
> 
> “…Really?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MY TUMBLR IS UP hmu @ randomosities  
> (it's 5 am idk if I'm making any sense anymore)

A week after that, at the beginning of March, he’s asked to do another promo, instead of being given an actual match. He really doesn’t feel like talking (as he makes sure to express), but he comes up with a promo that’s supposed to be a verbal attack on Regal that ends up being a thinly veiled complaint about how the company is treating him, how Seth and Roman are treating him.

He feels good after that, feeling some kind of relief at being able to vent his frustrations, and the feeling lasts as he’s walking down the hallway after exiting through the curtain, until he hears familiar voices coming from somewhere nearby, speaking words in hushed tones too low for him to make anything out.

Naturally, his curiosity compels him to follow the voices until he can find the source, until he can find out what the hell’s being said. He walks slowly, creeping along, listening to the voices growing louder as he gets closer, although he still can’t really understand what’s being said.

Eventually, he reaches the point in the hallway where there’s a sharp turn around the corner, and he knows they have to be just around the corner, their voices almost intelligible, so he presses his back to the wall and peers around the corner.  

There, he finds Seth, with his back pressed against the wall and Roman pressed against his front, giggling about something, and Roman trying unsuccessfully to shush him, then evidently choosing to quiet him with a kiss.

It’s just the kind of thing Dean _doesn’t_ want to see (he ignores the voice in his head saying he’d like to see it only if he’s involved), and he clenches his fists and seethes silently for a few moments, the burn in his chest manifesting itself with anger, and he storms off when he can no longer bear the sight of Seth and Roman being so intimate, not caring if they hear him.

When he makes his way into the locker room, he’s still seething with anger, and he ends up beating the shit out of Mike Dalton when the guy looks at him the wrong way, breaking his nose, and it takes five of the other guys to pull Dean off of him, Dean refusing to quit even when his hands are starting to ache from the force of his punches, even when his hands slip from his intended target, coated with the guy’s blood.

* * *

He gets suspended for a month. Apparently, there’s a rule about not breaking the new Florida Heavyweight Champion’s nose. It may quite possibly be the stupidest rule Dean’s ever heard of.

Even though he’s partly really pissed about the suspension because he fucking loves to wrestle and he’s being barred from wrestling, he’s also partly relieved. Maybe time away from Roman and Seth is what he needs. He’s so goddamn sick of seeing them doing whatever the fuck they’re doing, being whatever the fuck they’re being, that maybe not seeing them will do him some good.

He wonders if they’ll even notice he’s gone.

* * *

The first two weeks of his suspension pass at an agonizingly slow pace. He drinks, he sleeps, he hits the gym. He also spends a large amount of time sprawled out on his bed, naked, staring up at the ceiling while tapping out a mindless rhythm against his collarbone, thinking to the point that he would lose his mind if he hadn’t already lost it.

At the end of those two weeks, he comes to the conclusion that even though he doesn’t have to actually _see_ Roman and Seth, they’re stuck in his head like the fucking assholes that they are.

His mind keeps replaying the kiss, their blatant touches, Seth’s arrogant, satisfied smirk, as if his mind is a dusty old VCR with a scratched-up VHS tape stuck in it.

Sounds about right.

He makes a last-resort effort to get the two of them out of his mind, calling up an old acquaintance from Cincinnati and _begging_ him (Dean’s actually on his knees as he makes the call, hands clasped and the phone squeezed in between his ear and shoulder) to get his ass down to Florida just this once, just for a couple weeks. He swears he’ll even pay for everything, whatever the guy needs (even though he has exactly five dollars to his name at the moment, his savings dwindled away on booze and cigarettes), as long as he actually shows up.

To Dean’s surprise, he agrees, and the next day, he shows up at Dean’s door as promised, his familiar battered silver sedan packed full of duffle bags that he piles into Dean’s apartment. After examining the duffle bags, Dean finds they’re filled with all the shit he needs, like the guy had read his mind, and for a second, Dean’s convinced there is a god.

The last two weeks of Dean’s suspension are easier with his acquaintance’s temporary residence. Dean’s able to get anything he needs, everything he needs, whenever and however he needs it, even if it’s four in the morning and he’s huddled up in the corner, shuddering through the remnants of what his fucked-up mind produces at such a late hour; he’s given exactly what he needs.

He doesn’t really think about Seth or Roman during those last two weeks, though sometimes, his mind will flit back to them, just for the minute or two it takes for his acquaintance to realize his mind’s wandered before he slaps Dean around a bit and hisses at him to “stop fucking thinking so goddamn much, you’re ruining this.” It serves to clear Dean’s head and erase any curious thoughts of how Seth and Roman are doing, because the last thing he needs is to be thinking about them at a time like this.

And for two weeks, everything’s good.

* * *

Then Dean’s allowed to come back at the beginning of April, his suspension over (but not without a warning that he’s on probation), and everything goes to shit.

Because as soon as he walks into the locker room, something—namely, someone—comes crashing into him, and he drops his bag on the floor and prepares himself for a fight in the minute or two that it takes him to realize that whoever it is isn’t attacking him, but instead clinging to him, and it’s the weirdest fucking thing.

“What the fuck?” he asks, but he receives no response aside from the little shuddery breaths he feels being panted out across his skin. “Seriously, what the fuck?”

“You fucking asshole,” is the muffled response he receives, and with that he learns it’s Seth clinging to him, and he relaxes considerably, although he’s now confronted with the dilemma of part of him insisting he push Seth away and the other part insisting he pull Seth closer. “I thought you’d gotten yourself killed or something, god.” Seth’s fingers are tight around the back of his neck, squeezing, like the pressure of his fingers is enough to keep Dean rooted to the spot.

For now, it is; Dean gives in to the part of him insisting he pull Seth closer, bringing a hand up to entangle it in Seth’s hair and push his face into the crease between his neck and shoulder, Seth going almost limp on top of him as he does so.

“’S no god, just me. And, actually, I died and am now hauntin’ your ass in the afterlife.”

“…Really?”

“No, you fuckin’ idiot,” he says, with less incredulousness at how stupid Seth can be than there should be, and way too much fondness. “I got suspended ‘cause apparently I’m not s’posed to be breakin’ pretty boys’ noses.”

“You didn’t break my nose,” Seth says, and he sounds so utterly confused that Dean actually laughs a little.

“Fuckin’ egomaniac. You know this place is filled with pretty boys. But don’t worry, princess, you’re the prettiest.”

Seth hums his agreement, and they stay wrapped up in each other like that for a few minutes, giving absolutely no fucks about the chance of anyone happening to walk by and see them clinging to each other like the ridiculous idiots they are.

That is, until Dean happens to look up and see Roman standing a few feet away, his face an odd mix of amusement and concern, and Dean huffs out a disappointed sigh.

“We need to talk,” Roman says, and Dean rolls his eyes, making no attempt to untangle Seth from his limbs.

“You just had to ruin the fuckin’ moment, didn’t ya.”


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I fucking knew it, you asshats!” Dean shouts, overwhelmed by a sudden mix of obvious anger and inexplicable relief that leaves him feeling terribly unsettled. “But what the hell, man, I thought you were straight?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here guys, have a really bad and really short chapter. It's packed with drama though...

“Talk, motherfuckers.”

That’s the first thing Dean proclaims as soon as they get settled down. ‘Settled down’ being sitting down on one of the poor excuses for a bench in the locker room. Miraculously, there’s no one else around, which is simultaneously bizarre; how the hell can they have so many people on the roster and have Dean come into contact with them so few times? Maybe the rest of them are just actively avoiding him. He wouldn’t be surprised.

Seth’s apparently taking advantage of the fact that there’s no one else there, leaning against Dean, practically in his lap. Dean hasn’t even really done anything to him, but it damn well looks like Seth’s in subspace, eyes half-lidded and a litany of noises akin to purrs leaving his lips as Dean pets his head just to give his hands something to do. It’s _really_ weird how clingy Seth’s being, and Dean finds himself wondering if maybe Roman got his hands on him.

That one thought flashing through his head makes it feel like an overloaded weight bar’s been dropped into his stomach, leaving him with a sick feeling, and he scowls at Roman, pressing Seth tighter against him.

Roman’s been silent ever since they got settled down, staring at Dean and Seth as if he’s internally debating their actions, and it’s bothering Dean, how Roman won’t speak. He’s still pissed about seeing Roman and Seth kissing in the hallway, still wants to beat both their faces in for it, and he’s contemplating if it would be a bad idea to take Roman and Seth and literally smash their heads together and maybe knock some sense into both of them, when Roman finally speaks.

“I assume you wanna know what happened.”

It takes everything in Dean not to throw Seth at him.

“Of course I do. What the fuck were you two doin’, shovin’ your tongue down each other’s throats? The only one who can do that is me,” Dean huffs, and he’s not really sure what he’s saying, but beside him Seth makes a noise that sounds like approval, shifting to tuck his face into Dean’s neck.

What the hell is going on, he thinks. He feels like he stepped through the wrong door and ended up in some alternate universe, one where Seth is his pretty pet and Roman is his annoyingly handsome neighbor.

Or something like that. God, if he hadn’t been clean for the past year or two, he’d think he’d gotten a bad dose of drugs.

Because this is fucking surreal.

Roman purses his lips and lets out a long sigh, that handsome face contorted as if deep in thought. “It’s a long story, one Seth’s not gonna like me telling you… that is, if he hears it. I got no idea what the fuck he’s doing over there.”

“That makes two of us,” Dean supplies helpfully.

Roman gives him a _look,_ the look that translates roughly to ‘shut the fuck up, Dean,’ and Dean grins at him, settling back against the lockers.

“So, about six months before you got here, Seth and I were… involved,” Roman says, and Seth makes a noise that sounds like a warning, like ‘don’t fucking go there.’ But he doesn’t say anything, and Dean’s got no idea what the fuck Roman’s playing at.

“’Involved?’ The hell does that mean?”

Roman sighs again, scrunching his face up as if it pains him to speak his next words. “We were... in a relationship. We were dating.”

Dean feels his mouth drop open, because _no fucking way in hell_ was he expecting that.

Although he always kind of figured Roman and Seth were dating behind his back. It counted as ‘behind his back’ if he hadn’t even been in the same state or known either of them at the time, right?

“I fucking knew it, you asshats!” Dean shouts, overwhelmed by a sudden mix of obvious anger and inexplicable relief that leaves him feeling terribly unsettled. “But what the hell, man, I thought you were straight?”

Roman scoffs. “After him, I sure as hell _wanted_ to be.”

Beside him, Seth pulls away, straightening up as if Roman’s words have suddenly yanked him out of his odd imitation subspace, and he immediately starts talking.

“Don’t you dare, Roman, don’t tell him, don’t—“ and he gets up and crosses over to Roman like Seth’s going to physically make him shut up, but Roman gets the rest of his words out before Seth can stop him.

“He cheated on me.”


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seth is standing between Roman and Dean, arms folded over his chest, glowering silently at Roman. Roman’s face appears equally stormy, and Dean doesn’t really feel like getting in the midst of a fight right now, but he’s not entirely sure Roman and Seth aren’t going to kill each other in the next five minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter... hope it's not terrible.

“I dunno what I was expecting.”

Dean was already shocked by Roman’s confession that the two of them had been in a relationship, before Dean had even been around to get his hands on them, but with the confession that Seth had cheated on Roman, Dean’s jaw might as well be through the floor.

Seth is standing between Roman and Dean, arms folded over his chest, glowering silently at Roman. Roman’s face appears equally stormy, and Dean doesn’t really feel like getting in the midst of a fight right now, but he’s not entirely sure Roman and Seth aren’t going to kill each other in the next five minutes.  

“Ro…” the nickname slips out before Dean can even try to stop it, but Roman has no reaction. “What the fuck happened?”

Roman’s eyes shift to him briefly, eyes dark and full of something Dean doesn’t even want to try to name. “I just told you,” he says, voice low and kinda murderous-sounding, and Dean won’t admit it turns him on a little because it’s very close in tone to the low rasp of Roman’s voice when he’s getting his dick sucked.

“No, I mean… who?”

Roman sighs heavily, as if the weight of a thousand bricks has just come settling down on him. “I don’t remember the asshole’s name. Started with a J, I think,” and out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Seth give the tiniest nod. “Seth fucked around with him in ’07. Seth and I started dating in… September 2010, I think,” and Seth nods again, “At the beginning of February 2011, the fucker showed up outta nowhere. I made Seth swear he wasn’t gonna run back to him.”

Dean, absently chewing on his lip, nods, entirely too invested in the story than he should be.

Roman’s voice goes ice-cold with his next sentence, and even though Dean is scared of absolutely _nothing,_ he knows it wouldn’t be smart to fuck with Roman when the guy sounds this pissed. “He lied.”

“I didn’t lie!” Seth interjects. “I just—“

“Shut the fuck up, Seth. You promised, and then you broke your promise, and that makes it a lie,” Roman says, voice downright deadly. Seth closes his mouth, but he’s still obviously unhappy, a frown plastered across his face and the lines of his body screaming tension.

Hell, Dean can feel the heaviness of the tension in the air, weighing him down, and it’s bothering the hell out of him. He’s not sure what to do about it, but if he has to leave to get away from the weight of issues he really shouldn’t be involved in, then that’s what he’ll do.

“So…” Dean says slowly, attempting to process everything he’s just been told. “Is that why you were trying to make me choose? You didn’t want me with him? ‘Cause he’s a cheater? I already know he’s a cheater, Ro. Just not like this.”

“Choosing?” Great, now he’s grabbed Seth’s attention. He’d forgotten Seth didn’t know about the whole ‘choosing’ situation. “Choosing what?”

“None o’ your business,” Dean says, glancing briefly at Seth, who looks a mixture of intrigued and pissed. He’s leaning in, probably subconsciously, like he wants Dean to tell him everything about the ‘choosing’ Dean mentioned.

“It is my business!”

“No, it’s not,” Roman says, voice low, sharp, and that shuts Seth right up again. “But yes, Dean. I didn’t want you getting involved with someone like him. He ain’t worth your time. I don’t know why I ever even wasted my time, bein’ with him,” and Roman says that with an absolutely hateful look towards Seth, and Seth’s face transforms into a hurt expression that Dean recognizes from when Dean had told him the other man meant nothing to him.

Seth storms out, turning the corner hurriedly before Dean can even think of getting up to go after him, and Dean looks at Roman after he leaves, bewildered.

“Then why the fuck did you invite him into the stall for a goddamn threesome?!” he nearly shouts at Roman.

Now Roman looks perplexed, and Dean thinks maybe what Roman needs is a good, hard slap across the face.

So does Seth. When the fuck did Dean become the one responsible for solving all their problems? He’s got problems of his own; he doesn’t have the time or energy to try to fix _their_ problems.

“See, Rome. Now you’ve gone and fucked everything up.”


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You look at him like he’s the sun and the stars and the moon, like you’re a child looking up at the fucking sky and seeing how wondrous it is. And you don’t see it, but Roman looks at you the same way. You don’t look at me that way, and Roman certainly doesn’t."

Frustrated with Roman’s apparent lack of sense, Dean leaves the locker room as well (but not without actually slapping Roman a few times and yelling at him to get his shit together; he figures there’ll be consequences for that eventually, but he doesn’t really give a fuck). The logical part of his brain is telling him it’s best to just get the fuck out of there, do whatever idiotic promo FCW wanted, get it over with and get out, but the illogical (and apparently ruling) part of his brain is telling him to go look for Seth.

Why, instead of going to do what he gets _paid_ (however measly) to do, does he go look for the guy he’s supposed to hate, who he _should_ hate, because the guy’s been nothing but a pain in his ass since day one?

He doesn’t fucking know.

He heads down a hallway that looks vaguely familiar, banging on doors and opening them and calling out for Seth, and he’s just about to give up when he opens a door and swears that by the dim light that streams in, he can see a figure huddled in the corner.

“Seth? That you?”

“Go away,” is the watery response, followed by an overly-loud sniffle.

“Make me,” Dean answers, leaning against the doorframe. Surprisingly, no answer comes, and if he stares hard enough he can see Seth shaking, as if he’s crying.

Jesus, what the hell is he crying for? He’s the one who cheated on Roman, not the other way around. And yeah, Roman had been a bit of an asshole back there, but he’d been no worse than Dean. Seth had brushed off all of Dean’s insults like they were pieces of confetti clinging to his hair instead of the boulders Dean had intended them to be.

Dean decides to voice his thoughts. “Are you crying? What the fuck, dude?”

Seth straightens up, but his body continues to shake, and if it wasn’t obvious before it’s obvious now. “Go away," he repeats, but it sounds like there’s a half-sob caught in his throat, like he’s on the verge of a fresh wave of tears.

Dean sighs, contemplating the situation. Really, he should get the fuck out and leave Seth to do whatever it is he’s doing. Coping, being a brat, whatever. But something in his chest, something he’d now like to rip out, is twisting uncomfortably at the sight and sound of Seth crying like this.

He nudges his way into the room, leaving the door open just a crack behind him. The room’s fairly small, small enough that if he were claustrophobic, he’d be feeling pretty uncomfortable right now. Basically just a closet, he thinks. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was the same closet he had snuck into to give Seth a handjob.

“C’mon, stop crying,” he says once he gets over to Seth, who has his back to him. Dean prods at Seth’s back with the toe of his shoe, but Seth doesn’t react at all. It’s actually a little concerning. “Sethie. Princess. Where are you?” It’s a last-ditch effort he doesn’t think will work, but why the fuck not.

It must work somehow, in some form, because Seth drags himself to his feet, and there’s about a second or two in between the time that he makes it to his feet and the time that he practically throws himself into Dean’s arms, making him stumble backwards and end up against the wall. Seth’s face is pressed into the crease between his neck and shoulder, arms wound tight around his waist, and his body is shuddering against Dean, the other man’s chest heaving as he cries, and Dean doesn’t really know what to do here, doesn’t know how to make someone who’s crying feel better, but he tries his best.

“C’mon, don’t cry,” he says, bringing a hand up to Seth’s head and curling his fingers to scratch them gently through Seth’s hair, the way he knows Seth likes. “Rome’s an asshole ‘n shit. Don’t be cryin’ for him.”

Seth says something against his neck, but the words are lost in the sob that bubbles up in Seth’s chest as he speaks, forcing itself to be expressed.

“Say that again?”

“I thought he would take me back,” Seth sobs out against his neck. “It was once, Dean, just once, I cheated on him _once,_ but I loved him, I loved him, I didn’t mean to cheat on him—“ and the rest of his words dissolve into another sob, and Dean sighs, moving his hand down to trace absentminded pictures on the back of Seth’s neck.

“You never told me what happened. Your side of the story ‘n all that shit,” Dean informs him, and Seth inhales shakily.

“His name was Jimmy Jacobs,” Seth says, and Dean’s glad it’s too dark for Seth to see his face, because he’s _very_ familiar with the man, in more ways than one, and he can feel his face giving that fact away. “I used to work with him a couple years ago, in a different company, and we were _something_ then, but whatever it was ended when I left the company and he stayed.”

“And then…?” Dean prompts when Seth falls silent. Seth sniffles again before continuing his story.

“And when I came here, I met Roman, and he was so nice to me and so good-looking that I was just instantly attracted to him, and he was attracted to me too and we started dating, and I loved him and he loved me and it was perfect.”

“Then why’d you go and fuck it all up by cheating on him?” Dean asks, though in all honesty, some small part of him is glad Seth fucked it up all those months ago, because he feels like it’d be a lot harder to get to Roman and Seth the way he is now if they were in a relationship.

“I told Roman about him, once. Roman said I didn’t need Jimmy anymore, because I had him. But then Jimmy showed up in Florida out of nowhere, knocking on my door, asking for a favor.”

“You fucking idiot,” Dean says, because he knows what’s coming. But he can’t say he’s never fallen victim to that trick, either—it’s the oldest trick in the book. But the way Seth talks about Jimmy seems like their relationship was on a higher level than his was when he’d been involved with Jimmy, so who is he to judge?

“I told Roman about it, and Roman made me swear not to spend time with him. But then one thing led to another and I woke up in bed with him naked,” Seth says, the memory apparently bringing a new wave of tears as he sobs again. Dean awkwardly pets him, not knowing what else to do. “And I felt so guilty that I told Roman, and when he heard, he was just done with me,” Seth says, and his voice cracks, and he sniffles, sounding like a goddamn mess.

“And?”

“And I knew there was no way to get him back; he was just too good for me, and after that he just acted like he hated me. So I just tried to focus on getting ahead in the company, instead of making friends and having relationships or whatever, ‘cause I couldn’t afford to be broken again. And then you showed up.”

Only when Seth Rollins is this upset, this vulnerable, will he ever describe himself as once broken, or attach high importance to Dean.

“And I hated you—I mean, I still do. But some part of me kind of wants you, in a really fucked up way, and I don’t want to want you because you’re a fucking insane asshole, but I don’t know, I can’t help it. But I also want Roman—I mean, who the fuck _wouldn’t_ want Roman?—but he wants you and you want him and I’m just the third wheel.”

Dean’s dumbfounded, for a long time unable to find words he can even attempt to use to describe his thoughts and feelings at the moment.

Finally, when he manages to semi-compose himself, he speaks. “How d’ya know I want him? You got no proof.”

“It’s in the way you look at him,” Seth says solemnly, his tone making it sound like a bittersweet fact. “You look at him like he’s the sun and the stars and the moon, like you’re a child looking up at the fucking sky and seeing how wondrous it is. And you don’t see it, but Roman looks at you the same way. You don’t look at me that way, and Roman certainly doesn’t. Even when we were in the bathroom and you were sucking his dick. Everything was for you, Dean. The lust in his eyes – that was for you. He let me in because it was what _you_ wanted. Not because it was what I wanted.”

And Dean’s got the weirdest lump in his throat, like someone’s shoved a brick down his throat and it’s stuck there, and it feels like someone’s cut out his tongue because he doesn’t know how to speak, and there’s something wet in his eyes, blurring his vision.

And when he finally regains his tongue, it feels thick and heavy in his mouth, words on the tip of it so difficult to wrap his lips around. “Maybe I do want you,” he says slowly.

“It’ll never happen,” Seth says quietly, his tears controlled for the moment. And Dean doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know if Seth would ever believe him even if he was telling the truth, so he does the only thing he knows.

Using the dim light as a guide, Dean leans in and presses his forehead to Seth’s, just a light tap, before he presses forward just the inch or so more that it takes for their lips to touch, and he’s kissing Seth, slow and deliberate like never before, and Seth’s kissing him back, and it feels like maybe temporarily, the pieces of him have been put back together.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of all the goddamn wrestling promotions in the world, Roman and Seth just had to be a part of this one when he showed up.  
> He wants to pummel them both.

It becomes painful for Dean to see them after that. Not the good kind of pain, either; the kind of pain Dean would prefer, the kind that keeps him going. It’s the bad kind of pain; the kind of pain that makes it feel like there’s a fire burning in his chest, eating away at his bones and his skin and his soul, if he still has one.

Whenever Dean catches Roman’s eye in the locker room, Roman glances at him briefly, his jaw hard-set and something downright _cold_ in his eyes, before turning away. With Seth, it’s not much better; Seth ignores him just the same, pasting on a sneer that Dean can see right through.

Dean catches Seth hovering around Roman sometimes, too, but it appears that Roman has gone back to not giving him the time of day, his body language tense and shut-off as Seth flits around him emphatically, talking about something Dean can’t quite discern.

The pain wears him down so much that he eventually goes to the general manager and begs for a match, anything, against anyone, just because if he has to feel pain, he wants it to be the good kind of pain, not whatever this is, this thing that’s making him doubt who he is and gets him wanting to fall back on old habits he’s been trying to swear off.

She gives him a tapout match.

* * *

It’s a fairly uncommon type of match in which the only way to win is to get your opponent to tap out. No pinfalls, no disqualifications, no countouts. It’s just what Dean needs.

Dean’s all business when he gets in the ring, immediately taking his anger and frustration with the entire Roman and Seth situation out on his opponent. They tussle for a little while, but it doesn’t take long for Dean to put him in the _Regal Stretch_ and for him to tap out.

Of course, Regal leaves like he’s disgusted by Dean’s actions, and Dean storms out after him, stopping backstage, a cameraman hot on his heels. Dean immediately launches into a tirade that’s supposed to be a criticism of Regal, but he can’t control his mouth and the shit he’s supposed to keep bottled up spills out. “Everything’s been taken from me, and _this_ is the only thing I have left!” he shouts, slamming his fist against the wall.

It’s unfortunately true – it feels like Seth and Roman have been taken away from him with Roman’s confession, feels like all these months he’s been intruding on something he was never really a part of in the first place. And really, he should’ve known better, should’ve known not to get involved with them, because good things don’t happen to people like him. It never would’ve ended well in the first place.

The realization makes him feel nauseated, for reasons he doesn’t want to acknowledge. So, with one last glare at the camera, he storms down the hallway, his mood souring further with every step.

Out of all the goddamn wrestling promotions in the world, Roman and Seth just had to be a part of this one when he showed up.

He wants to pummel them both.

* * *

He nearly follows through when he’s back in the locker room, angrily stuffing his gear into his locker and ignoring everyone around him, when he hears the unfortunately familiar low rumble. “Hey.”

“Fuck off,” Dean mutters. He doesn’t have the patience to deal with Roman right now (hell, he never will), and he doesn’t want to get suspended again for breaking another nose, even though Roman’s presence is almost begging for it.

Roman chuckles, but it’s humorless, somehow sounding so wrong coming from his lips. “Make me.”

“Don’t think I won’t fuckin’ fight you,” Dean warns in a low voice, feeling his blood boiling, just from Roman’s sheer arrogance. “I’ll fuck up that pretty face of yours real quick.”

“Is that a promise?”

Dean decides that if that’s what Roman wants, that’s what he’s gonna get. Setting his jaw, he closes the door to his locker slowly before turning to Roman and proceeding to try to punch him.

‘Try’ is the operative word, because in half a second Roman’s grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head against the locker, using his whole body to pin the rest of Dean against the locker, and Dean scowls and squirms in a desperate attempt to get away from him, but Roman only tightens his grip.

“Let go of me, you asshole!” Dean spits, continuing to squirm even though his efforts are obviously futile.

“Not until you promise to let me talk to you without running off anywhere.”

“I don’t promise shit to no one,” Dean responds vehemently. “Now let go of me, motherfucker.”

Roman rolls his eyes, and Dean doesn’t think he can hate him any more than he does at that very moment.

“Well, since you’re obviously not going to cooperate, I’m going to have to talk to you like this. I’ll let go of you when I’m done talking.”

“I don’t give a shit about what you have to say,” Dean snaps, squirming once more as a desperate last effort, but Roman’s grip on his wrists tightens to the point of pain, his eyes dark with something Dean can’t identify.

“I don’t fucking care whether or not you give a shit,” Roman growls, and Dean definitely does _not_ feel his cock twitch. “You’re gonna fucking listen to me.”

Dean frantically searches his brain for a good response, but comes up blank.

Fucking handsome asshole.

“I just wanted you to know,” Roman says finally, his voice softer but his eyes no less dark, “that my offer’s still open.”

“What fuckin’ offer?”

“I gave you a choice as to who you wanted. And I’m still yours for the taking… if you choose me.”

“I’m not choosing,” Dean declares defiantly.

“You’d really pick Seth’s cheating, slutty ass over me?” Roman asks, his voice tinged with disbelief. “He’d leave you in a heartbeat, you know that. He’s got a list of exes a mile long… and if any one of them came back, he’d go running off to them just like that.”

Dean chews on his bottom lip, pondering this information. He’s lying, right? Seth wouldn’t just up and leave him… would he?

Then again, Dean’s never been good at keeping anybody. Seth can’t be the exception. Hell, there’s no such thing as an exception for a guy like him.

“But I wouldn’t do that,” Roman continues. “Unlike him, I’m loyal. I think I’m what you need, Dean. You need someone to stay, to take care of you,” he murmurs, voice almost fond. “He can’t do that, but I can.”

Dean’s mind is surprisingly blank. Roman smiles at him, a real smile, surprisingly not just a baring of his teeth. “I just want you to think about it, Dean. Think about who you _really_ want… then let me know when you’ve made the right choice.”

Roman lets go of him, stepping back to give Dean some space. He flashes one last smile at Dean before abruptly making his leave. Dean slumps to the floor, all the fight drained out of him, his head spinning.

Why the fuck did either of them have to exist when they did shit to him like this?


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I hate you, you know that?”  
> “I’m well aware.”  
> “Good, because I’m never fucking you again. Ever. ‘Cause you can go fuck yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday Ro~

Dean’s in a sour mood when he steps into the arena the week after his little encounter with Roman. He’s been in such a mood since the encounter, although he’s not sure if it’s entirely due to that. He thinks it might also have to do with the fact that FCW is trying to push him down into an irrelevant position, when all he wants to do, and what he _knows_ he can do, is stand out.

He refuses to let them throw him into the trash pile.

His sour mood is exacerbated by a (completely unwarranted, in Dean’s opinion) attack by his opponent in the previous week’s match, who’s apparently still pissed that Dean beat him, even though it was a clean win. Dean ends up getting choked to the point of nearly passing out (and not in the way that he likes) until someone finally pulls the idiot off of him and he gets a chance to breathe.

He gets some retaliation later in the day by purposely inserting himself in the ring in the middle of a match and trash-talking the wrestlers he knows are actually irrelevant, spitting harsh words at them, just because he can.

He feels a little better after that, but his mood hasn’t lightened enough to make a significant difference when he steps out of the arena at the end of the night.

Goddamn Roman Reigns.

* * *

Dean takes the next week off, because he ends up in an even worse mood on the day he’s supposed to show up to wrestle or talk or do _something_ other than glare at every person and inanimate object in the room, but he finds himself incapable of doing anything but the latter.

He ignores the obnoxious ringing of his phone when the show’s start time rolls around, finding himself incapable of giving enough fucks to actually _tell_ them he’s taking the day off. He also pointedly ignores the fact that he’s entirely capable of being fired for such an act.

They wouldn’t fire him. He’s too damn good. The company needs him.

After all, who put on what the company considered “one of the best matches in its history” with the company’s resident pretty boy?

He did.

* * *

Dean returns the week after that, at the end of April, when the air is starting to get uncomfortably sticky once more and when he spends a significant time outside without a shirt on.

He’s starting to feel a little better – maybe it’s the time away from Roman, maybe it’s the time away from Seth, maybe it’s the excessive number of six-packs he drank in the span of a week – and he’s actually looking forward to what the night holds when he walks in the door.

That all changes when he walks into Seth (quite literally), but Seth doesn’t move out of the way after their collision.

“Move,” Dean huffs. “I’m in a decent mood and I ain’t lettin’ you ruin it.”

Seth says nothing, but a shit-eating grin appears on his face, and Dean’s highly suspicious.

He almost slaps Seth when the other man rummages around in his bag (that Dean didn’t even notice until now) and pulls out the Florida Heavyweight Championship belt, just as shiny and tempting as ever.

“You,” Dean splutters, watching Seth’s grin grow wider and starting to see red, “You—what the _fuck?”_

“I won it,” Seth says matter-of-factly, hoisting it over his shoulder and looking at it with too much affection for what it is. “Thought you might wanna see how good it looks on me.”

Dean scowls and tries to snatch it away from him, but Seth darts back, his grin changing to knowing.

“It’s not that easy, Dean-o,” he says, and Dean’s scowl deepens at the unwanted nickname. “If you want it, you gotta fight me for it.”

“Don’t tempt me. I’d knock your pretty ass out with one hit right here and now.”

“An _official_ fight,” Seth clarifies. “You know, in a ring. With a referee.”

As great as that would be, and as well-received as that would be (Dean knows the fans would just eat that shit up), he knows it won’t happen anytime soon, what with him skipping a week and the company already trying to relegate him to a lower role.

“I hate you, you know that?”

“I’m well aware.”

“Good, because I’m never fucking you again. Ever. ‘Cause you can go fuck yourself.”

* * *

Dean’s half-surprised when he doesn’t get fired; he’s left merely with a warning, and given a fairly insignificant match as a sort of punishment. Right now, with anger still lurking in his bones, he couldn’t care less about who he fights, as long as he gets to punch someone.

He ends up winning said match easily, barely even breaking a sweat. When he heads back to the locker room afterwards, it’s surprisingly deserted, looking as if no one had been there at all that day.

It’s really fucking weird, and a little unsettling. He knows the other wrestlers tend to be wary of him, avoiding him (probably because he knows they talk shit about him when they think he’s not listening, but unfortunately for them, he’s always listening), but it’s not like them for the locker room to seem so untouched.

He doesn’t really mind it, despite how odd it is. He’d rather spend ten years in solitary confinement than have to see Roman and Seth again and deal with all the pain that now accompanies their presence.

He’s putting the last of his gear away and starting to lock up when he hears the door to the locker room open. At first, he ignores whoever it is, but when all he hears is silence instead of footsteps or the sound of another locker opening, he grows curious as to who it is and what they want.

Or was he just imagining the sound of the door opening?

He doesn’t know.

He turns to face the doorway, glancing up from his locker as he slings his bag over his shoulder.

His mouth drops open and his eyes widen as he realizes just who it is standing by the locker room door, wearing that familiar vaguely amused look that sometimes seemed permanently etched onto his face.

The other man’s lips curve upward in a smirk as he sees Dean’s obvious recognition.

“Miss me?” he asks.


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So what do you say, Mox?” the other man asks, his voice almost a purr in Dean’s ear. “Interested in playing with me some more?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a super short chapter to tide everyone over while I try to figure out what the hell I'm doing.  
> Warning: this chapter includes a character that I'm fairly unfamiliar with and so there will probably be shitty characterization.  
> (To put things in perspective, I spent four months picking apart Seth, Roman, and Dean's characters before feeling comfortable enough to write them)

“I need a favor.”

_That_ gets Dean’s brain working again, trying valiantly not to let his guard down again in all the unfortunate ways he’d done so in their time together.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, comin’ in here like you’re someone’s fuckin’ god, actin’ like you can get whatever you want from me even though it’s been two goddamn years?”

Dean wants nothing to do with this man, the man who had lured him, and others, into a false sense of security to get anything and everything he wanted, who had _constantly_ reassured Dean he’d take good care of him, only to abuse his trust.

“It’s been a year, Mox,” the other man says calmly, too calmly. Dean wants to lash out, to _hurt_ him the way he’d been hurt, but he feels inexplicably frozen to the spot. “Can I call you Mox? I always liked it better than Dean.” He pauses, a grin forming on his face that makes Dean feel a little sick. “I also liked Tyler better than Seth… but don’t tell him that. It’ll be our little secret, Moxie.”

“Don’t call me that,” Dean says, mentally cursing himself thereafter for the way his voice shook as he spoke.

“Why not? When you would go under for me, you _loved_ it. I know nothing’s changed.”

“I don’t want anything to do with you,” Dean states firmly, hoping his voice sounds stronger than he feels.

“That’s a lie.”

“How the fuck would you know? Not one fuckin’ thing you ever said to me was truthful.”

“Because you were always such a bad liar. You still are, you know. You have all these little things you do when you lie – you look down, scratch your neck, draw in on yourself. You’re doing all of those things right now.”

Fuck his traitorous subconscious. Dean huffs out an irritated sigh and does his best to act as if he doesn’t give a fuck. “What the hell do you want, anyway?” he asks.

“Haven’t I made that clear already? I want _you_.”

“Why me? Why not Seth? Take him, he’s being a brat. Showin’ off with his stupid championship belt,” Dean grumbles.

“I’m positive there would be a lot more consequences if the champion suddenly disappeared. Come on; just spend a week or two with me. I promise you’ll enjoy it,” the other man coaxes, and Dean hates himself for actually being a little bit tempted.

“But,” Dean begins, falling silent as he realizes he can’t find the words to properly finish his sentence, to really say how he feels about this whole fiasco. The other man smirks again, walking towards him. Dean tenses as the other man slips behind him, fitting himself snugly against Dean’s body. It all feels too familiar for Dean’s comfort, and he’s stuck between pushing the other man away and pulling him closer.

“So what do you say, Mox?” the other man asks, his voice almost a purr in Dean’s ear. “Interested in playing with me some more?”

Dean opens his mouth to answer, but he’s silenced by the feel of the other man sucking a bruise into the side of his neck, making him moan involuntarily. The other man lifts his head and chuckles softly, the sound derisive, and Dean feels the first traces of inexplicable humiliation.

“Fuck off, Jacobs,” Dean manages, though he’s still unable to find the will to shove Jimmy off of him.

“That’s my Moxie.”


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Dean can do is mumble what he thinks is an apology, one he doesn’t mean. He drops his head, his neck starting to ache from the strain of tilting it up to watch Jimmy.  
> “God, you’re more of a whore than I remember. Where’ve you been in the past year, hmm? Who’s been fucking you?”  
> “No one,” Dean says when his mouth catches up to his brain. It’s a half-lie, but he doesn’t think Jimmy expects the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains NSFW content and content that could be potentially triggering. It includes the likes of dubious consent, drug use, breathplay, collaring, humiliation, and submission. If you are uncomfortable with ANY of these things, PLEASE skip this chapter.

“What’s your safeword, Mox?”

“Mmm… don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember your safeword?”

“…No.”

Jimmy _tsks_ quietly, running a hand through Dean’s sweat-damp hair. “I repeated it several times to make sure you remembered. You were supposed to remember it.”

“M’sorry,” Dean mumbles, even though he’s really not sorry. He doesn’t think he can even remember how to feel sorry in such a state.

He’s on the floor of the small area in his apartment that he considers a sort of living room, hands and knees grubby from its filthy surface. He’s wobbling unsteadily on his hands and knees, entirely naked save for a leather collar tight around his throat, hooked to an accompanying leash that Jimmy has wrapped around his fist. His legs have been forced apart by a spreader bar attached to him with leather cuffs around his ankles. He’s a little dizzy, and his arms and legs are aching, but he feels pretty good. Everything’s a little hazy around the edges; he suspects Jimmy gave him something, but he doesn’t really mind.

“If you want to stop, then, you’ll have to tell me to stop. And you’ll have to say it like you mean it. Got that, Mox?”

Dean’s only half-listening, leaning into Jimmy’s touch and nearly purring at the way it feels for the other man to have his hands all over him. “Mm-hmm.”

Jimmy pulls the leash taut, and Dean gasps in surprise, immediately regretting it as his airflow is cut off. His hands instinctively fly to his throat, but the lack of anything holding him up causes him to tilt forward, enough that if it weren’t for the leash, he would faceplant. His vision begins to swim, and he’s starting to see spots, when Jimmy loosens his grip and Dean slumps over on the floor, half of his face pressed into the carpet as he takes in ragged lungfuls of air. His neck feels a little raw under the collar, but he refuses to complain.

When he starts to feel like a fully-functional human being once more, he scrabbles at the carpet until his hands are in front of him, as steady as they can be in such a situation, and he slowly, slowly pushes himself back up to his knees, risking a glance at Jimmy.

Jimmy’s smiling, a smile that holds only a hint of a promise of all the things he probably intends to do to Dean.

“Just making sure you were paying attention,” he offers. “Thought you were starting to check out on me.”

“No, no, s’good,” Dean manages, wincing slightly at how hoarse he sounds, how the words burn in his throat and on his tongue.

He’s too far gone to worry about his safety now.

He agreed to this, agreed to let Jimmy do what he wanted with him, but he’s starting to lose track of how long it’s been since Jimmy took him home. Minutes blur into hours, hours blur into days, but he thinks it’s been about a week. Maybe a week and a half.

But Jimmy’s been good to him. He’s fed him, fucked him, cleaned him up when he inevitably ended up covered in his own fluids.

Really, Dean’s enjoying himself. He knows his desires are hard to fulfill, that only one other person ever came close to doing so. He knows neither Roman nor Seth could ever do this for him; especially not Seth. But that’s fine by him, because by now he’s been long used to getting what he needs from unsavory sources.

It’s just that Jimmy’s pushing him farther than he’s ever been pushed before.

“Look at you,” Jimmy says, and Dean feels himself burning hot, but he can’t tell if it’s from his arousal or from the humiliation he feels tight in his chest. “You’re a mess. We’ve barely even started.”

All Dean can do is mumble what he thinks is an apology, one he doesn’t mean. He drops his head, his neck starting to ache from the strain of tilting it up to watch Jimmy.

“God, you’re more of a whore than I remember. Where’ve you been in the past year, hmm? Who’s been fucking you?”

“No one,” Dean says when his mouth catches up to his brain. It’s a half-lie, but he doesn’t think Jimmy expects the truth.

That is, until the collar tightens around his throat again, and Dean’s left struggling to breathe until Jimmy loosens his grip once more.

Dean pants heavily, trying to catch his breath, and looks up at Jimmy.

“I think you’re lying to me, Moxie,” Jimmy says. “It’s not like you to go a year without getting fucked. Come on, tell me who.”

“None of your fuckin’ business,” Dean mutters, some of his usual self managing to resurface from under the haze.

Jimmy raises an eyebrow. “I think you really don’t want to play that game with me right now. You do remember what happened last time, don’t you?”

Dean nods. He remembers _very_ well, and even though it might be fun, it wouldn’t be a good idea now, with him being in a major company.

“So just tell me, so I don’t have to do anything you wouldn’t like.”

After a few seconds, Dean mumbles the name obediently, and Jimmy actually _laughs._ Dean feels his humiliation build as Jimmy looks at him with his nose wrinkled in distaste.

“Oh, I know him. But really, _him?_ He’s a step down for you, Mox. Actually,” Jimmy pauses, “he’s probably about six steps down for you. You couldn’t find _anyone_ else?”

“Shut up,” Dean huffs, voice low.

“You’re lucky I came to your rescue. Everyone in your new company just looks awful. Except for Seth, and… what do they call him? Leakee? Strange name, but he’s not bad on the eyes. Oh, and that Dalton kid. Mmm. I’ve got my eyes on him.”

“Think he’s straight.”

“With an ass like that? No way in hell. He’ll forget the word _straight_ even exists when I’m done with him.”

“Are you gonna fuck me or what?” Dean asks impatiently. Whatever Jimmy gave him is starting to wear off, and now he’s just sore and horny, but he’s not sure which is stronger.

“I could just punish you by leaving you like that all night,” Jimmy counters. “Make you sleep on the floor.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“I would kill you first—“

Dean’s threat is interrupted by a series of harsh, rapid knocks on his door. Jimmy looks vaguely amused at the interruption, as usual.

“Expecting someone, Mox?” he asks.

“No.”

“Hmm. I’ll go see what it is.”

Dean watches, struggling to hold himself up to view the scene, as Jimmy goes to the door. When Jimmy opens the door, Dean’s view of the other person is blocked by his body, but he hears a voice that sounds very, very familiar.

“Jimmy?! What the _hell_ are you doing?”

“ _Relax._ I’m taking care of our boy,” Jimmy says casually, as if this is a thing he does on a regular basis. Probably not that far from the truth, Dean thinks.

“You said it’d be just a few days. But Dean’s been gone for two weeks, you idiot,” the other man says, voice tinted with anger, and Dean almost has a name to the voice, “Roman’s worried about him, the company’s on the verge of firing him, you’re _not_ making this subtle. You’re leaving a _massive_ fucking trail and you’re going to get both of us caught.”

“Tell the company to quit bitching. Tell Roman he’s fine. Just get them off my ass,” Jimmy says, sounding faintly worried, a word Dean never thought he’d ever associate with Jimmy Jacobs. “Tell them he’s gonna come back rejuvenated and refreshed or whatever. Tell them he went on vacation, I don’t fucking know. Come up with something, you’re the smart one. I just fuck them.”

“You’re the biggest fucking idiot on the planet. I don’t know why I still bother with you.”

“’Cause you love me.”

“I don’t. I just tolerate you.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Jimmy pauses, like he’s trying to come up with something else to get the other man to stay. “Hey, you wanna help me with him?”

“Depends on what you mean by ‘help.’”

“You could fuck him, if you wanted. Think he’d like it.”

“But if he sees me, we’re fucked.”

“I’ll blindfold ‘im. It’ll be fine.”

The other man pauses, as if he’s seriously considering it. Dean strains to hear his response, and he must be as much of a whore as Jimmy says he is, because he’s gone from half-mast to fully hard and leaking at the thought of someone else fucking him like this.

“Tempting, but I can’t. Not today.”

“Why not?”

“Got places to be, Jacobs. Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow,” the other man says, proceeding to drop his voice into a lower tone, one that’s so familiar and somehow so arousing that Dean nearly whimpers. “You can tie him up for me and I’ll fuck him good.”

“That I can do,” Jimmy says, and Dean hears a wet noise, as if the two are kissing. Dean drops his head, his neck no longer able to bear the strain, and he hears the door shut and footsteps toward him.

He looks up, and Jimmy’s standing in front of him, looking very pleased with himself.

“So you wanted me to fuck you?” Jimmy asks.

Dean nods.


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But it’s a guy I don’t even know.”  
> “Actually, you’re very well-acquainted with him, in more ways than one.”  
> “Then who the hell is he?”  
> “I can’t tell you,” Jimmy says, and Dean wants to punch the smirk right off his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains (bad) dirty talk, bondage, submission, sex that's probably neither safe nor realistic, dubious consent, toy use, drug use, double penetration, and comeplay. If you're uncomfortable with any of these things, please skip this chapter. 
> 
> This chapter is so filthy I feel like my soul needs to be cleansed after writing it. It's also massive. I hope it makes up for the wait.
> 
> Enjoy, feel free to come talk to me or express feels about it on Tumblr @ randomosities, and whoever can correctly identify the two pop culture references in this chapter gets a virtual high-five and a free oneshot of whatever they want. 
> 
> Also thanks to @Duckay for putting up with me and my self-loathing.

“You want a cigarette?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Here, take it. You’re being weird again. Maybe it’ll make you feel better. Or something.”

Dean accepts the proffered cigarette, letting Jimmy light it and taking a long drag from it gratefully.

“What’s gotten into you?” Jimmy asks. “You’re being different. And it’s not a good different.”

Dean exhales slowly, watching the cigarette smoke pass through his lips before he answers. “’M nervous.”

“Nervous? The fuck do you have to be nervous about?”

“You know,” Dean huffs irritably, tossing his best glare Jimmy’s way. Jimmy stares at him in confusion for what might as well be forever before it apparently clicks and recognition passes through his features.

“Oh. That.”

“Yeah, dumbass,” Dean responds, fighting the urge to toss his lit cigarette at Jimmy’s face. _“That.”_

“Chill, Mox. You’ll be fine. Didn’t you tell me you wanted this, anyway? ‘Cause I talked to you about it yesterday… and I’ve never seen you come so fast.”

“But it’s a guy I don’t even know.”

“Actually, you’re _very_ well-acquainted with him, in more ways than one.”

“Then who the hell is he?”

“I can’t tell you,” Jimmy says, and Dean wants to punch the smirk right off his face.

“You motherf—“

Dean’s interrupted by Jimmy pulling his cigarette from his mouth and then pressing fingers to his lips, pushing something inside his mouth. Upon closer inspection, he determines it’s a pill of some sort.

“Here,” Jimmy says, pushing a paper cup full of water up to Dean’s lips, one he had seemingly produced out of thin air. “Drink. This’ll _really_ make you feel better.”

Dean decides to do as asked, swallowing the pill and chasing it down with the water obediently, watching out of the corner of his eye with a little disappointment as Jimmy stubs out his cigarette in their makeshift ashtray. He doesn’t bother to ask what the hell is in the pill; some naïve part of him trusts Jimmy, just a little bit.

Jimmy actually smiles. “Good boy,” he says. “He’ll be here soon, and we have to get you ready.”

“M’bed’s too small.”

“I know. That’s why he’ll have you here,” Jimmy says, patting the couch they’re currently sitting on. It’s a ratty old thing, but it’s comfortable enough and definitely big enough for two, maybe even three.

“Oh.” Whatever Jimmy gave him is starting to hit his bloodstream, and he’s starting to feel a little loose, like he’s tipsy. It’s not a bad feeling, he’ll admit. “How’re you gonna tie me up then?”

The look Jimmy gives him makes his cheeks burn; it’s somehow irritating and placating all at once, leaving Dean too confused for his liking. Maybe his mind is starting to play tricks on him tonight, he thinks. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“You really think a bedpost is necessary to tie someone up to get fucked?” Jimmy asks, and Dean blinks, glancing down at Jimmy’s hand rubbing his jean-clad thigh. He’s sure it wasn’t there just a second ago.

“…Guess not.”

Jimmy smiles at him as if he’s a child just figuring the world out for the first time, and something in Dean wants to be pissed about it, but his brain is stubbornly refusing to connect to his mouth, to his body.

“Stay here, don’t touch anything. I’ll be right back.” Then Jimmy’s gone, disappearing into another room, and Dean stares at his retreating figure blankly.

What the hell is he supposed to do again?

His mind is quickly becoming hazy, and he feels sluggish, struggling to sift through his limited memories of the previous few minutes to remember what’s been asked of him.

Oh. Right. Sit still, be good. Don’t move. _Be a good boy, Mox._

He can be good. Hell, he can do better than good. He can be the very best.

_Like no one ever was,_ he thinks idly, chuckling softly to himself. He’s so wrapped up in his clever little joke that he doesn’t notice Jimmy returning with an assortment of objects in his hands.

“What’s so funny?”

Dean glances up, finally noticing Jimmy standing in front of him. He licks his lips and lets out one last dry chuckle before he answers the question. “Nothin’.”

Jimmy looks as if he intends to say something else, but his expression clears and he shakes his head, instead dropping the objects in his hands onto the couch.

“Whatcha got for me?” Dean asks, leaning over to peer at the small pile in hopes of identifying something, but nothing’s decipherable to him.

“Toys,” is all Jimmy gives him, and Dean feels a shiver crawl up his spine. His earlier anxiety is quickly being replaced by a strange sort of excitement, excitement of the unknown and the possibilities it brings.

“Gonna tie me up?”

“If you’re still up for it,” Jimmy says, pulling what looks like a medium-sized cord of white rope from the pile and holding it a foot from Dean’s face. “You want this?”

“Hell yeah. Tie me up, baby,” Dean says eagerly, extending his arms and legs out in front of him, in case Jimmy wants to tie both up.

“Put your feet down, Mox,” Jimmy says, reaching over to press Dean’s wrists together and start wrapping the cord of rope around them. “We’ll get to ‘em later.”

Dean watches as Jimmy ties his wrists together, the rope digging into his flesh just enough for him to feel the slightest bite of its material.

He likes it.

“Good?” Jimmy asks, tugging on Dean’s binds a little to make sure they’re tight enough to stay put.

“Uh-huh.”

“Get up,” Jimmy orders, and Dean obeys, standing up on wobbly feet. He nearly falls over when Jimmy starts yanking at his jeans, unbuttoning them and pulling the zipper down, pushing them down so that they pool around Dean’s ankles.

“Going commando, Mox? Really?”

Dean nods, feeling his face heat as he kicks off his jeans.

“What a whore.”

“’M not a whore. Seth is,” Dean protests weakly.

“You’re both whores. Sit back down,” Jimmy says, coaxing Dean back onto the couch. “Feet up.”

Dean lifts his bare feet up off the floor after he sinks back down onto the couch, watching intently as Jimmy slips the leather cuffs at the ends of the spreader bar around his ankles, the length of it forcing his legs open. His dick twitches as Jimmy secures the bar, the abrupt realization of what he’s getting into sending a sharp spike of arousal coursing through him.

“Ready for the final piece?” Jimmy asks, a grin on his face, sharp and predatory.

“Give it to me,” Dean declares, an obvious challenge in his words. He only gets a brief glance at the ‘final piece’ – a long strip of black cloth that’s serving as a makeshift blindfold – before it’s being placed over his eyes and tied behind his head.

Everything immediately goes dark – he can’t see a goddamn thing. He shouldn’t be as excited by the prospect as he is.

“Can’t see anything, can you?”

“Nope,” Dean says, popping his lips on the ‘p’ like the little shit he is. “But I can hear your ugly mug pretty damn good.”

“Someone’s cranky,” Jimmy says, sounding vaguely amused. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Dean squints, but he still sees nothing but the all-encompassing darkness of the blindfold’s confines. “Prob’ly one. Cause you’re prob’ly flippin’ me off.”

“Good enough,” Dean hears, the words followed not long thereafter by the sensation of a hand clasping his shoulder, grip firm. He sighs and leans into the touch, allowing himself a momentary lapse in judgment. The drug in his system is making him feel a lot more comfortable in such a situation than he would usually be; none of the alarms in his head are ringing, and any hesitations lying in wait in his brain aren’t connecting to his body.

Sometimes Dean fucking loves drugs.

He feels the hand disappear, but then something soft is trailing across his cheek. He turns his head into the touch, realizing belatedly that it’s Jimmy’s fingers tracing an invisible path across his cheek. He opens his mouth a little, just for the hell of it, and feels Jimmy push one finger into his mouth. He closes his lips around it and sucks on it, just for something to do, becoming intimately familiar with the salty taste of Jimmy’s skin.

Eventually, Jimmy frees his finger from Dean’s grasp. “Good boy,” he says, and Dean can physically feel the lust in his tone. For a fleeting moment, it makes something ache in his chest. But he’s half-hard already and becoming impatient, awaiting the arrival of the person who’s going to fuck him “so good he won’t even remember his own name,” as promised by Jimmy.

But Dean has high expectations, so he’s not so sure that’ll happen.

“When ‘m I gonna get fucked?” he asks, his impatience finally slipping through the cracks of his unaffected, careless façade.

“When—“ Jimmy’s interrupted by three successive raps on the door, so sharp and unexpected that Dean actually jumps.

Fuckin’ blindfolds.

“Guess that’s him,” Jimmy says, and Dean hears the sound of footsteps moving away from him. He shifts on the couch, a little uncomfortable, because it’s just fuckin’ _weird,_ in his opinion, to be unable to see anything. It’s making his surroundings more unpredictable; for once, they’re on the same page.

“Assholes,” he mutters to himself, doubtful that either of the two men at the door will be able to hear him, what with them both being wrapped up in each other. He hears the same voice he’d heard yesterday, the one so undoubtedly familiar yet so inexplicably difficult to identify.

“What took you so long?” he hears Jimmy ask. “We were about to start without you. You know I wait for no one.”

“Good for you, ‘cause I’m not here to see you.”

Dean hears Jimmy gasp in mock offense, followed by the sound of the door closing and footsteps headed in his direction. “You wound me. I should keep Mox to myself just for that.”

“You wouldn’t. Besides, he was mine first.”

“You’re wrong. He was _mine_ first. I just didn’t fall ass-over-heels for him like you have.”

“Shut _up,_ Jacobs.” Dean swears he recognizes his voice through the one inflection, but he’s not sure. Could be wrong. Maybe the drug’s making him hear things. ‘Cause it sure as hell can’t be him.

Can it?

“’M right here. Stop talkin’ ‘bout me like I don’t exist,” Dean says, a half-hearted protest.

“Don’t make me punish you, Mox,” Jimmy threatens, closer now, and Dean hears the other man laugh, warm and loud, a sound that makes something seize in his chest.

“Oh, fuck off, Jimmy,” the other man says, too lighthearted for it to be a real threat. “He’s mine tonight.”

“Who said he’s yours?”

“I did.”

“I thought we were gonna share him.”

“You’ve had him for two weeks. Like I said, he’s mine tonight,” Dean hears the other man say. He jerks when he feels a hand atop his upper thigh, more out of surprise than anything else.

“Relax,” the other man says, in a tone so warm and familiar that Dean, for whatever reason, complies. “I’m gonna take good care of you.”

His hand moves from Dean’s upper thigh to wrap around his cock, and Dean actually _whines_ at the touch, thrusting his hips up unsteadily in an attempt to get more. It’s dry and rough, but he loves it, loves the pain-laced pleasure.

“Easy, baby,” the man says. “We got a lot to do tonight. Don’t want you coming too early.”

Dean desperately wishes his hands weren’t bound, wishes he could touch himself, return the favor, do _something_ other than moan and squirm like a greedy whore.

But he’s resigned to his fate.

He tries to spread his legs wider, forgetting in the midst of his arousal that he’s currently sporting a spreader bar and is therefore unable to open his legs any further. He nearly growls in frustration at his predicament, distracted only by the man’s thumb running over the tip of the head of his cock, drawing a whimper from his lips and a dribble of precum from his quickly hardening dick.

The man’s hand disappears from around his cock, moving up to sweep softly across Dean’s cheek. He knows it’s not Jimmy; the touch is too gentle, too intimate, too familiar for it to be Jimmy. Dean can feel, deep down in his bones, that he knows the man touching him.

Knows him very well.

Dean tips his head up into the touch, and the man laughs softly, breath fanning out across Dean’s skin.

“God,” the man says, voice rough. “You look so fucking good like this. Think I oughta just keep you like this forever… keeps you from doin’ the stupid shit you always do.”

Dean doesn’t have the presence of mind to be offended.

“I’m just surprised you’re not runnin’ that pretty mouth of yours. Jimmy give you too much, huh?”

What did Jimmy do? He— _oh._

Dean nearly forgot.

“He’s an asshole,” Dean rasps.

“I am _not,_ ” Dean hears from his other side, Jimmy’s tone indignant. He may have forgotten Jimmy was still there.

Oops.

The other man laughs again, bright enough to make something burn fiercely in Dean’s chest. “Dean’s right. You _are_ an asshole,” he says.

“You’re a dick,” Jimmy huffs, Dean able to clearly hear the pout in his tone. “Keep it up and I’ll never bring him back.”

“You wouldn’t dare. The locker room needs this sweet ass in it.”

“Are you gonna keep arguing or are you gonna fuck me?” Dean asks, growing impatient once more, wiggling slightly in his binds.

“Of course we’re gonna fuck you, Deano,” the other man says, tone slightly mocking, but Dean can’t find it in himself to mind. “But where’s the fun in just getting it over with? We’ve got all night… what’s the rush?”

“The rush is that I’m fuckin’ horny ‘n you promised to take care of me, so take care of me already,” Dean snaps, his mild exasperation pushing through the drug-induced haze. He uses what little balance he has remaining to try to push his hips up off the couch, seeking the attention he needs. “’N if someone doesn’t touch my fuckin’ dick in the next forty-five seconds, ‘m gonna kill you both.”

“There’s the Dean I know,” the man says, sounding almost fond. Dean’s about to ask ‘ _what the fuck does that mean,_ ’ but then there’s a hand on his cock and a mouth on his throat and the weight of someone straddling him and the presence of someone above him, stroking rough fingers through his hair, and he’s so overwhelmed that all he can do is whine and tip his head upwards.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” Dean hears murmured softly over the skin of his throat, barely catching it through all the simultaneous stimulations making him dizzy. “So fucking long. God, Dean.”

Dean’s embarrassingly rock-hard from all of this, from the other man expertly stroking his cock and lapping and nipping at the column of his neck, from Jimmy combing his fingers through Dean’s hair and describing in great detail all the filthy things they intend to do to him, words low in his throat and his mouth pressed to Dean’s ear. Dean thinks he shouldn’t like it this much, thinks it’s just another one of the various things that’s wrong with him, but he feels so fucking _alive;_ it feels like his nerve endings are on fire, every part of him that’s being touched blazing.

He’ll admit he’s close, closer than he should be, but the two of them know just how to take care of him, and his body’s reacting appropriately. He’s trying his hardest not to come too soon, wanting this to last, but Jimmy whispers about how they intend to fuck him at the same time, how they’re gonna split him open on their cocks, how they’re gonna fuck him so good that they’ll ruin him for anyone else, and the other man curls his fingers just right and bites at the skin over Dean’s pulse, and Dean shudders and comes, keening as his cum splatters against the fabric of his grey tank-top.

Dean sags against the couch’s threadbare cushions, feeling a little spent already, but the man whispers ‘ _Good boy,_ ’ in Dean’s ear, so sultry that his cock twitches in a valiant effort to show his continued interest. He hears the man saying something to Jimmy, but he’s unable to register what it is until he feels the two of them pulling at him, tugging his limp limbs into the position they want, and he realizes they’re pulling his shirt up and over his head, discarding it somewhere unbeknownst to Dean.

“I think you look best naked,” the man informs him, and Dean, for any number of absolutely fucking ridiculous reasons, _blushes._ He might hate his body after this. “All nice and defined. You go to the gym a lot?”

Dean’s quiet, unsure if he’s supposed to answer or not, until he feels a hand slide into his hair and grip and pull, hard enough that he moans shamelessly at the pleasure sparking up his spine from the feeling, mouth opening and falling slack.

“When I ask you something, I expect you to answer. You got that?” the man asks. Dean nods quickly, forgetting in his haste that he’s supposed to respond verbally. “Say it, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean manages, too drawn to the feeling of his hair twisted around the man’s fingers to really be aware of what he’s agreeing to.

“Good boy,” the man says, his voice sounding warm as the pressure of his fingers wrapped in the strands of Dean’s hair disappears. “I knew you’d like that. You’re so fucking easy.”

“’M not easy,” Dean protests half-heartedly. The man laughs, and somehow, Dean feels embarrassed.

“Oh, yes you are. It took virtually nothing to get you to agree to this. I thought we’d have to bribe you or blackmail you or something. But it was so simple. You’re a real piece of work, Ambrose.”

“When the hell am I gonna get to fuck him?” Jimmy asks, piping up from somewhere behind Dean.

“You’ve gotten to fuck him probably a million times in the past couple of weeks. Wait your goddamn turn, Jacobs.”

“But—“

“One more word and I’ll kick you out of this apartment, so help me god.”

Dean doesn’t hear Jimmy’s response, distracted by the man’s mouth pressing against his ear once more, whispering a promise that makes Dean go from half-hard to fully hard in all of 0.3 seconds. “First, I’m gonna fuck you. Then Jimmy’s gonna fuck you. Then we’re gonna both fuck you… at the same time. Think you’re up for all that?”

“Yeah, _please,_ ” Dean begs, his response essentially reflexive, a mindless string of pleading words resting just under the tip of his tongue.

“See? Look how well I know you,” the man says, and Dean feels the weight above him disappear, followed by the sound of a button opening and a zipper being pulled down. “But I’m not going to fuck you just yet. You have to earn it first.”

“How ‘m I gonna do that?”

“Well,” the man says slowly, as if he’s considering all the things Dean could do for him. “You can suck my dick and we’ll call it even.”

Dean can’t possibly hate himself any more than he does at the moment he realizes his mouth’s watering at the prospect of sucking the man’s dick. “Deal.”

“So easy,” Dean hears murmured, just before there’s something being pressed against his lips. Dean opens his mouth obediently, letting the man push his cock inside. He laps at it, hearing the man’s sharp intake of breath, followed shortly by soft praise and fingers—maybe Jimmy’s—combing through his hair.

“I think you were born for this,” the man says, just as Dean begins sucking in earnest. “So fucking good at this, fuck.”

Dean’s doing his best to take all of it, trying to relax his throat to reach the base. He struggles for what feels like forever, unable to steady himself with his hands, but at the same time mildly worried he’ll choke if he just goes for it. He feels fingers slide into his hair and stay there for a moment, unusually gentle, before they push, and the man’s cock is sliding deeper into his mouth.

“There you go,” he hears, and that’s Jimmy by his ear, murmuring softly to him. “Easy, kid. Breathe. C’mon, I know you can do it.”

Dean listens attentively, taking little shuddery breaths in through his nose as he tries to relax as much as he possibly can. He feels the head of the man’s cock bump the back of his throat, and his eyes water as the man lets out an appreciative groan. He blinks back the wetness, although one drop sneaks out of his eye and slips down his face, traveling past the blindfold with ease.

“Are you crying?” Jimmy asks, sounding concerned, something Dean’s not used to. “Shit, are you okay?”

“He’s fine,” the man insists. “You know how he is.”

“No, I think we need to check on him.”

“Jimmy—“

“ _We’re checking on him._ ”

The tone of Jimmy’s voice indicates that his word is final, and with a sigh, the other man pulls back, his cock slipping free. Dean actually whines at the loss, his mouth feeling uncomfortably empty.

“Talk to us, kid. You okay?” Jimmy asks him. “It’s not as fun if you’re not into it. How’re you feeling?”

“M’ okay,” Dean manages, immediately surprised at how hoarse he sounds. He hasn’t even been fully wrecked yet. “Don’t worry ‘bout me. Jus’ want more. Please.”

“See, I _told_ you he was fine,” the man scoffs. “I know him better than you do, Jimmy. I see him every damn week. You haven’t seen him in two years.”

“Are we really going to argue about this now? I’m so fucking hard that I think I have no blood left in any other portion of my body than my dick.”

“You have hands. Use them.” Dean snickers at that, unable to help himself, and the man’s attention turns to him. “Aw, look, he thinks I’m funny.”

“You’re just an asshole,” Jimmy complains, doing nothing to hide the pout in his tone.

“ _You’re_ the asshole. I told you, you can have him when I’m done with him. But I’m not done yet.”

Dean feels fingers moving across his face, pushing his damp hair back. “Open up,” the man murmurs, and Dean obeys, letting his mouth go slack so that the other man can push his cock inside. This time, he doesn’t ease his way in inch by inch; he pushes in all the way at once, making Dean gag and choke and struggle to breathe.

“Don’t kill him,” Dean hears Jimmy scold the other man, before turning his attention to Dean. “Breathe, Mox. You’re okay. If I know anyone who can suck cock like a champ, it’s you.”

The praise seems to help, and Dean manages to get ahold of himself, relaxing around the man’s cock in his throat. The man sets up a steady rhythm of pulling out and pushing in, fucking Dean’s face and pushing him deeper into the couch, doing all the work while Jimmy somehow wedges his way in and places his hands on Dean’s shoulders to keep him still, murmuring soft praise all the while.

Dean’s hard again already, and he wants to touch, _needs_ to touch, but his binds prevent him from doing anything of the like, so he just whines around the man’s cock, hoping it’ll communicate his sentiment of ‘ _someone fucking touch my dick now or I’ll kill both of you slowly and enjoy it’_. The man just groans, apparently not understanding Dean’s message, but someone apparently understands it, because no more than a minute later does Dean feel a hand wrapped around his cock, stroking up and down teasingly slow. He moans around the other man’s cock and does his best to push his hips up into the touch, desperately seeking more.

Dean’s lips are stretched wide and slick with spit, some of it spilling down his chin, and he knows he must look like a fucking mess used like this, but he can’t bring himself to care. Jimmy’s hands are still on him, one on his shoulder and the other around his cock, staying still and letting Dean fuck his fist wantonly while whispering words of encouragement in his ear.

Dean can tell the man’s close, can hear it in his off-beat moans, can feel it in his sloppy thrusts, so he does his best to bring him over the edge, licking and sucking at what he can, humming mindless tunes and enjoying the reverberation of the man’s moans in his body. It doesn’t take long for the man to come, muttering profanities as he stills and empties himself down Dean’s throat. Dean struggles to swallow it all, some of it overflowing and spilling down his chin. When he’s swallowed as much as he can, and the man is slowly pulling back, he feels an additional wetness on his face, and he realizes that Jimmy’s licking the cum off, tasting it for himself. He shudders, finding himself teetering on the edge of orgasm, with Jimmy’s hand still working his cock even as his attention is focused elsewhere.

“Fuck,” Dean groans, voice raw and fucked-out, body twitching as he attempts to prevent himself from going over the edge. Jimmy apparently notices, biting softly at Dean’s earlobe before murmuring in his ear.

“Gonna come, Mox? Gonna come for us, huh? Just know we got lots more to do… we’re gonna tear you apart, baby. So go ahead. _Come,_ ” Jimmy says, punctuating the last word with a sharp upstroke that’s just enough encouragement for Dean’s cock, and he gasps and comes, his cum shooting out, up to his chest and even his neck. Jimmy lets go of his cock, but then his fingers are swiping through the mess of cum on Dean’s chest, then moving to Dean’s lips.

“C’mon,” Jimmy coaxes. “Taste yourself. Bet you taste really fuckin’ good.”

Dean opens his mouth, closing his lips around Jimmy’s fingers and swirling his tongue over them, collecting what he’s been offered. It’s an odd taste, in his opinion, but not bad. Just different.

He’s not going to complain.

The hand that was on his shoulder disappears, and Dean hears the _clink_ of a button opening and the sound of a zipper being pulled down, followed by a sharp hiss and a groaned profanity. He hears footsteps, first moving away from him and then towards him, and then the _slap-slap_ of skin hitting skin, accompanied by soft grunts. He learns that Jimmy’s jerking himself off over him only when Jimmy groans long and loud and Dean feels additional wet splashes on his chest.

“Fucking _finally,_ ” Jimmy sighs, sounding spent.

“Where’s the lube?” Dean hears the other man ask. “I wanna fuck him already.”

“You were supposed to be the one bringing the lube!”

“You cannot tell me you don’t have any lube. How the fuck have you been fucking him this whole time without any lube?”

Dean listens to them argue over the lube for what feels like forever but is possibly only five minutes, until they return to him, apparently equipped with lube.

“I’m gonna—Jimmy, what the fuck did you put on him?”

“What do you mean?” Jimmy asks.

“What’s around his ankles?”

“It’s just a spreader bar! It helps, y’know.”

“I’m not even going to ask,” the other man says, sounding exasperated. “Just get it off of him for now. It’s inconvenient.”

“But it looks hot. You know it does.”

“…Fine, yes, it looks hot. Happy?”

“Maybe. I still don’t think it’s fair that you get to fuck him first.”

“Goddamnit, Jimmy, you’ve had enough of him in the past two weeks to last you the rest of your life. You can’t wait half an hour?”

“No. I can’t.”

“I can and I will kick you out.”

Jimmy doesn’t say anything else, but not long after, Dean feels hands grabbing at his ankles, eventually freeing him of the spreader bar he’d inadvertently forgotten about.

“That’s better,” he hears the other man say, his voice sounding closer than it had before. “Dean, spread your legs. Jimmy, grab him and position him.” Dean does as asked, spreading his legs wide, but then he’s being grabbed and pushed until it feels like he’s being folded in half, as if his ass is quite literally over his head.

For all he knows, it could be.

If he didn’t feel so wonderfully fucked-out already, he’d be embarrassed.  

Dean hears the bottle being opened, followed without warning by a slicked finger probing at his ass. He tenses up in surprise and hears an irritated huff from the other man and gentle words of encouragement from Jimmy.

“C’mon, relax, Mox. Be good for us. Relax, that’s a good boy,” Jimmy coos, voice soft but firm. Dean manages to relax, focusing on the sensation, how even with the generous amount of lube there’s still a little bit of pain, of the stretch, of the unfamiliarity.

If this is who Dean thinks it is, he’s certainly never had his fingers up Dean’s ass before.

“You’re so goddamn tight. Jesus,” the other man laughs, incredulous. “And here I was, thinking that if Jimmy fucked you as much as he’s claimed to, you’d be loose as hell. Think someone was lying to me.”

“I was _not!”_ Jimmy insists, sounding as offended as a normal person would be if someone insulted the person they cared most about in the world. “He just has a permanent virgin ass or something, I don’t know. Fuck it as much as you want and it never gets any looser.”

“I don’t think I want to know how many times you fucked him before you found that out,” the other man decides, pushing a second finger into Dean’s ass as he speaks, and then spreading them, trying to stretch him out. Dean whimpers, enjoying the feeling of a supposed stranger’s fingers in his ass much more than he should be.

“It’s probably in the hundreds,” Jimmy informs him.

“Like I said, don’t wanna know.”

There’s a hand on the back of Dean’s thigh keeping him steady, but he still jerks a little bit when the other man curls his fingers and bumps against his prostate. He’s only half-hard, but the touch is coaxing him to full hardness, every brush against it making a wave of pleasure roll through his body.

The man adds a third finger, and this time, it definitely feels like Dean’s being split open, a bit of pain mixing with the pleasure of his prostate being stimulated as he struggles to get accustomed to the stretch.

“Relax, Dean,” the man says. “I know you can take this. We just need you stretched open as much as possible, or else we won’t be able to fuck you at the same time, like we promised.”

It takes a while, and he still feels like he’s being split open, but eventually, he adjusts to the stretch, the slight burn. Almost immediately after he finally relaxes, the man starts pushing a fourth finger in, and Dean nearly cries out in surprise.

“Don’t break him,” he hears Jimmy say.

“If he wants to have two dicks in his ass at once, he’s gonna have to be able to handle four fingers.”

Dean feels like he’s being stuffed impossibly full, and it’s even harder to adjust to the new stretch, the level of pain about equal to the level of pleasure he’s experiencing.

“Doing okay, Mox?” he hears Jimmy ask, and he nods without a second’s hesitation.

“Please… hurts so good…” is all that falls from his lips, feeling drunk and hazy and fucked-out and tortured all at once, and it’s so overwhelming but he fucking loves it. He feels the other man curl two fingers to brush against his prostate once more, and he jerks a little bit, feeling his cock dribble precum onto his stomach. The other man finally, finally pushes his fourth finger all the way inside, and Dean feels like he’s burning, but he never wants it to stop.

“He’s a slut for this,” the other man says, and Dean feels his cheeks burn, but he’s not exactly embarrassed; maybe a little proud, actually. “Look at how good he takes it.”

“He’s our little slut,” Jimmy says, sounding even more proud than Dean feels. “We’re gonna wreck him so good that he’ll never want anyone else ever again.”

“It’ll certainly get Roman out of the picture,” the other man mutters, and Dean should feel concerned about what that means, but it’s as if his neurons aren’t connecting, aren’t firing; no concern registers in his mind.

“Wait, what?”

“Nothing,” the other man says, pulling his fingers from Dean’s ass with a wet _pop._ Dean whines at the emptiness he feels, instinctively clenching around nothing.

“I think you may have already broken him,” Jimmy says.

“He’s not broken. He’s just over-excited. He gets like this when he needs to be fucked. Right, Dean?”

“Mm-hmm,” Dean mumbles. “Wanna get fucked… please…” He’s fully hard now, just eagerly anticipating the fucking he’s been promised. 

“See? He’s just needy,” the other man says to Jimmy before turning his attention back to Dean. “You want me to fuck you, baby?”

Dean nods quickly. “God, yeah… please.” He’s entirely convinced he’s going to get blue balls if he doesn’t get a dick in his ass in the next five minutes.

There’s a hand gripping his other thigh now as well, keeping him steady as the head of the man’s dick presses against his hole. The man pushes forward, easing his way in inch by inch. Even with the prep, the burn is intense, and Dean struggles to relax, to adjust.

“C’mon, Dean,” the man encourages. “Take my cock, just like I know you can.”

“Whoa… he looks really good like that,” Jimmy says, his voice tinged with awe.

“Of course he does. I’m pretty sure anything sexual involving dicks is what he’s second best at. Second only to wrestling.”

Dean feels an odd burn of pride, out of place in the midst of his drug- and dick-induced stupor. He’s distracted from the flash of pride when the man pushes further in, tearing a whine from his lips. He’s hungry, inexplicably needy, searching for more, more, _more._

He doesn’t feel like himself.

“Just a little bit more,” Dean hears, his brain informing him that the voice belongs to Jimmy. “You’re doing so good, Mox.”

“Please,” Dean mumbles, not entirely sure what he’s even asking for. He tips his head up, pressing the back of it into the threadbare sofa’s back. He realizes his face is wet, but he doesn’t know if it’s tears or Jimmy’s spit.

The man groans as he finally bottoms out, and Dean feels good. He feels full, full in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time; his needs are hard to satisfy. His cock is steadily dribbling precum, pooling on his stomach to add to the already-drying mess on his chest and neck.

He can’t see himself, but he’d bet twenty bucks he looks pretty damn good like this. Like the mess he is.

“Please,” Dean says again, louder this time, wriggling slightly in his binds.

“Please what? What do you want, Dean? Talk to me. Use your words,” the man says, and Dean feels hands on his hips, fingertips digging in hard enough to spark the pleasure-pain that Dean loves, that Dean needs.

“Please fuck me,” Dean rasps, face aflame. “God, please. Need it so fucking much, _please.”_

The man laughs, and it feels like Dean’s chest is aflame, too. “Your wish is my command, Ambrose.”

And then Dean gets what he asked for; the man starts fucking him, pulling out nearly all the way only to push forward all the way in without pause, nearly making the couch move with the force of his thrusts. Every push in, every pull out, sends sharp pleasure shooting up Dean’s spine, emanating throughout his whole body, every single nerve ending communicating only one thing: _this feels really fucking good._

Pun included.

“I told you that you were a whore,” Jimmy says, sounding almost triumphant. “Moaning like a bitch in heat getting split open on his dick.” The description should make Dean embarrassed, pissed, _something_ negative, but it just spurs him on, sending another spark of pleasure shooting through him. He’s getting off on every damn word and he knows it and he knows Jimmy knows it and he refuses to be ashamed of it. He fumbles around in his binds, hoping to accidentally-on-purpose break them so he can touch himself because he’s so damn hard he feels lightheaded, but he fails to do nothing more than add a hint of frustration to the lust swimming around in his brain.

“Allow me,” Jimmy says, and then, _finally,_ there’s a hand on his dick, stroking up and down torturously slow, but it’s better than nothing. The man is still fucking into him as Jimmy touches him, alternating between slow, lazy thrusts and hard, fast thrusts, and the combination of sensations is making Dean feel hot all over. All of a sudden, the man stops, and those fingers are digging into his hips hard enough to make pain the dominant sensation, but he realizes he’s being shifted a couple degrees, and when the man starts to fuck into him again, he hits something that makes Dean cry out and arch his back at the white-hot pleasure that floods him.

His prostate.

Of course.

The man starts fucking him brutally, his thrusts hard, fast, and short, hitting his prostate every single goddamn time until Dean feels like he’s on the verge of losing his mind, if he hasn’t already. Dean’s closer than he wants to be, although in the two times he’s already come, he’s come so hard that he thinks he might come dry this time, that he came so hard he’s got nothing left to give now.

Something in his body must give him away, because Jimmy starts up the dirty talk, the kind that always pushes Dean over the edge whether he wants to be pushed or not.

“I wish you could see yourself right now. Your lips are all swollen and you’re covered in cum and you’re spreading your legs so wide that you look like a whore. A _cheap_ whore. But it’s okay, you’re our cheap whore. I think we ought to take lots of pictures, just so we can show you how pretty you are when you’re being our little whore.” He pauses, as if he’s searching for more to say. Honestly, he could say anything else and Dean would come; he’s _that_ close. “Gonna come on his dick, Mox? You come so pretty. Like you’re all fuckin’ blissed out.” Another pause, but Dean’s hanging on his every word. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, sounding almost raw, husky. “Bet when you come, he’s gonna feel that nice ass tighten on his cock, gonna feel it milk him for all he’s worth, and then he’s gonna come. And after he pulls out, I’m gonna fuck you, and I’m gonna use his come as lube.”

The suggestion is enough to tip Dean over the edge, and he comes soundlessly, all the air knocked out of him. He feels some splatter against his chest, adding to the mess of cum on his torso, and some spill over Jimmy’s hand, dripping down his fingers. Dean’s body goes limp after he comes, every part of him feeling thoroughly drained dry. The other man’s not done yet, though, and he slams into Dean a couple more times before moaning a familiar profanity as he fills Dean with his cum. The sensation is enough to will a twitch out of Dean’s spent cock, even though he feels utterly exhausted.

As the man pulls out, Dean feels something bumping against his lips. “Taste,” Jimmy commands, and Dean obediently opens his mouth, letting Jimmy push his sticky fingertips inside. He sucks on each finger, cleaning it thoroughly. Jimmy pulls his fingertips from Dean’s mouth when he apparently decides they’re clean, and takes on a new task: maneuvering Dean into a sitting position. Parts of him are starting to ache, what with him being on a shitty couch with his ass literally over his head. In the process, he’s only mildly distracted by the feeling of the other man’s cum seeping out of his hole.

“Do you need a break?” Jimmy asks him.

“Mm-hmm.” Dean hears the sound of footsteps away from him, and he wonders idly where he’s going. No more than a minute later, the footsteps return, this time in his direction, and then something’s being pressed against his lips. Dean shakes his head, refusing whatever it is.

Jimmy sighs. “Don’t be difficult, Moxie. It’s just water. Drink it. Hydration’s important.” Dean finally obliges, opening his mouth just enough for Jimmy to tip the cup forward to pour some water into his mouth. Someone’s _petting_ him, their hand smoothing over his hair, but in his weary state he doesn’t actually mind it, and even if he did, he doesn’t have the energy to fight it.

“You feeling okay?” he hears the other man ask. Dean nods; hell, he feels better than okay, he feels _great._ He feels used, fucked-out, and according to the two of them, they’re not even done yet, but he loves it. _This_ is what he needs, what he knows Roman can never give him; but he would never even think of burdening Roman with such a request.

He’ll keep his filthier side tucked away when Roman’s around.

“He’s fine. Can I fuck him now?” Jimmy asks impatiently. When the man doesn’t answer, he turns to Dean. “Can I fuck you now, Mox?”

“Oh my _god,_ Jimmy, you can’t just ask people if you can fuck them.”

“What? Why not?”

“It’s not appropriate.”

“’Not appropriate.’ Fuck that. I’m fucking you now, Moxie,” Jimmy informs Dean.

“Fine. _Fine_ ,” the other man says, sounding exasperated. There’s a pause, punctuated only by the sound of fabric ruffling, as if someone’s taking their clothes off. "Jimmy... Why are you taking your shirt off?"

"Because I can. Because I like being naked."

"Whatever. You're--you _still_ have those nipple rings?"

"Yeah! Pretty cool, right?"

"Jesus Christ. You're twenty-eight. Nipple rings aren't cool anymore."

"If I say they're cool, then they're cool."

There’s another pause, and then the other man must do something to Jimmy, maybe pinch his nipples, because Jimmy makes a sound Dean can only describe as a yowl.

" _Don’t touch my nipple rings!”_ Jimmy all but screeches. “Don’t make me kick _you_ out, you dick.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“I practically live here now. I can do what I want. So I would."

"You're a fucking idiot."

"I know you are, but what am I?”

“You’re a five-year-old trapped in a twenty-eight-year-old’s body, that’s what you are,” the other man says, sounding almost fond.

It’s at this point that Dean decides he can tolerate no more of their bickering. “Are you assholes gonna keep arguing ‘bout stupid shit, or is someone gonna fuck me?” he asks impatiently. Once isn’t enough when he’s been promised thrice, he decides. But if they’ve decided to back out of the hard fucking he needs, it’s not like he doesn’t have other people willing to fuck him at a moment’s notice.

He’s got tons.

Really.

“Oh, Moxie. Don’t you worry. I’d never forget about you,” Jimmy coos, and Dean feels a hand on the back of his thigh once more, and he realizes he’s being maneuvered back into the position the other man had fucked him in. He’s actually grateful for the brief respite; he’s sure FCW wouldn’t be too happy if he came to work with his back all fucked up.

Not like he hasn’t done it before, though.

He can’t help the sound that escapes his lips when the head of Jimmy’s cock brushes against his hole. Jimmy’s fucked him so many times in the past couple of days that this should be familiar, but it’s different, somehow, when he’s just been fucked by someone else. His hole is still slick with the other man’s cum, but he can feel it sticky-wet on the back of his thighs, too. He really should be bothered by it, but he’s not.

He thinks he actually finds it a little hot.

He decides that’s another thing to add to the extremely long list of ‘things that are wrong with Dean Ambrose’.

“You good, or do we need more lube?” the other man asks. Dean shakes his head frantically in response to the question.

“’M good, ‘m good.”

“You sure?”

“Uh-huh. Please.” The thought of being fucked by Jimmy with the other man’s cum slicking the way is making his cock twitch with renewed interest, despite his exhaustion and the fact that he’s sure he’s come enough in the past half-hour or hour or however long it’s been to run him dry.

When Jimmy starts to push in, Dean still feels a little bit of a burn, of a stretch, and he moans low in his throat at the combination of that sensation and the sensation of being filled once more.

“So goddamn easy, Ambrose,” the other man says. “Still wanting more, still giving in, even after everything. God, what I wouldn’t do to keep you.”

The last sentence confuses Dean, but he doesn’t get a chance to consider any of its possible meanings, being distracted by the feeling of Jimmy finally bottoming out and someone’s fingernails digging into the back of his thigh.

“You’re still so tight, shit,” Jimmy says, and Dean clenches around him, just for fun, making Jimmy moan like he’s the one getting fucked.

“Give it to him good, but don’t break him just yet. We’re saving that for the last round.” the other man says, and Dean shivers at the thought. He can’t deny that he would love nothing more than to be broken between the two of them; smashed to pieces and put back together again.

At least, he hopes they’d put him back together again.

Jimmy starts to fuck into him, breaths heavy, as if this was the first time he’d ever fucked Dean, when in reality Dean could count on twenty people’s hands and still need more to list all of their encounters. Dean moans with each thrust, getting fucked rough and fast as if Jimmy’s waited so long for this that he’s too impatient to go any slower. It’s fine by Dean; quick, dirty fucks are his favorite.

The other man is beside him once more, muttering softly in his ear. “Look at you,” he says. “Opening up so easy. Such a slut for this, aren’t you? Our little slut.” He pauses, and Dean nearly begs him to keep talking, the man’s words coaxing him back to full hardness. “Really, just mine, though. Jimmy thinks you belong to him, too, but you don’t. You belong to me; you’ve belonged to me since you knocked me down in the hallway last year.”

In the mental fog Dean’s lust and the drug are causing, he can’t recall anything even remotely similar to that.

“If you chose me,” the man murmurs, voice low and rough, “I’d take good care of you. I’d give you things Roman can’t give you. I know you’ve felt the chemistry we have in the ring… and you know it’s just like that in bed, too.”

Everything the man’s saying is going in one ear and out the other, but what Dean _is_ paying attention to is the rough, fucked-out tone of the man’s voice. It’s enough to build a swirling heat in his stomach, pushing him closer to the edge. Jimmy’s still fucking him, hard and fast enough to make the couch shake dangerously, but for some reason, it’s not enough. It feels as if someone put a cock ring on him, as if his building arousal’s been halted so he doesn’t come.

He tries desperately to put a name to all the sensations currently affecting his body, and comes to the half-formed conclusion that they _must_ have; it’s the only explanation, but it makes perfect sense. He’s come so much already that he’s lost count of how many times he’s come; they don’t want him to run dry before they get to the main event.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Jimmy hisses when Dean clenches around him once more, and his hips move a little off-rhythm, like he’s struggling to maintain his composure. Beside Dean, the other man laughs.

“Lightweight,” he says. “You practically came in your pants before you even got to fuck him.”

“Shut _up,_ ” Jimmy gasps, fucking into Dean so roughly now that Dean’s sure the couch’s gonna tip over or break and leave them both in a very awkward, uncomfortable position. “I’ve just been really fucking turned on, you dick,” he pants.

“I can tell,” the other man says, sounding fairly amused.

Underneath Jimmy, Dean finds himself whimpering, but he’s not sure why. Is he overstimulated, does he want to come, does he want Jimmy to be done with him already? He’s got no fucking clue.

His body is the biggest traitor in the entire fucking world.

Pun not intended.

There’s a hand pushing through his sweat-damp strands of hair, freeing them from where they’d been plastered to his sticky forehead. Dean tries unsuccessfully to push up into the touch, oddly craving something gentle.

“You’re being so good, Dean,” the other man murmurs, this time directly in his ear, breath hot and sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. “Letting him fuck you so good. Enjoying yourself?”

Dean nods quickly; this whole time, he’s felt all the tension slip out of his body until he’s been all but pliable, ready for the two of them to do whatever they pleased with him. “Wanna come… please…” he begs. Maybe if he asks nicely, they’ll let him.

“Oh, Dean. We don’t want you coming so soon,” the man says. “We want you to save it until the end. That’s why I gave you something special. You feel it?”

Oh, yes, he feels it. He’s not particularly happy about it, though. He nods, chewing on his bottom lip and squeezing his eyes shut. He swears he feels wetness leak from the corners of his eyes.

“So you’ll come when we tell you that you can come.”

If Dean wasn’t blindfolded and his hands weren’t bound and he felt a little more like himself, he’d deck the guy right there and then.

But he just whines, arousal burning hot as Jimmy moans something that sounds a lot like “I’m close,” fucking him with short, sharp thrusts that are a little off-beat. He can tell Jimmy’s close even without the warning; he’s grown accustomed to his habits in the past couple of weeks.

“He’s gonna fill you up,” the other man tells him, voice low. “Then, together, we’re gonna fuck you so good you won’t want anyone else. If you remember only one thing from tonight, that’ll be it.”

There aren’t words to describe how much Dean _wants._ He just moans like the whore he is, trying to spread his legs wider as Jimmy stills and groans out his release, filling him with cum. When Jimmy pulls out, a trickle of cum follows, leaving a sticky trail across Dean’s skin. The other man groans appreciatively at the sight.

“You better’ve gotten some pictures,” Jimmy says in-between pants. “I wanna have physical evidence of us taking good care of him. So if he doesn’t remember… we’ll be able to prove it.”

“I got a whole camera’s worth,” the other man says, pride evident in his tone.

“Nice, bro.”

Beside them, Dean’s impatience is building. He’s fully hard, but prevented from coming by the steel ring around the base of his cock. He desperately wants some kind of touch at the very least, and at the most for them to take the damn cock ring off and get him off. But he’s found that when he’s not in control, he doesn’t get what he wants, which he finds unsettling.

But for now, he’ll have to deal with it.

He whines and shifts his hips up slightly, a last-ditch effort to get their attention. It must work, because he feels a new hand on his thigh, stroking softly.

“So how are we going to do this?” Jimmy asks.

“I have an idea. Get him up,” the other man says. Dean lets them move him at their will, but he nearly stumbles and falls when they pull him up off the couch and plant him in a standing position. His legs are wobbly, but he’s prevented from falling by someone – he can’t tell which one – catching him. Whichever of the two it is, he’s pressed chest-to-chest against them, and his cock is pressed up against their stomach. It takes nearly all of his self-control not to just grind up against them for all he’s worth.

He feels the other one slip up behind him, placing hands on his hips and offering oddly affectionate kisses to his shoulder.

“I just wanna take you apart, Dean,” he hears whispered to him, realizing belatedly that it’s the other man, the one he has yet to identify.

“Oh, we will,” and that’s Jimmy in front of him, his hands sliding down the length of Dean’s back until they reach his ass, then squeezing. Dean pitches forward a little, and the movement causes his cock to rub against Jimmy’s stomach. He hisses at the feeling, trying his hardest not to chase after it one more time.

“Please,” he finds falling from his lips. “Please.” He’s not even really sure what he’s asking for.

“Please what, Dean?”

“Use me,” he says after a long pause, the words thick on his tongue; so hard to admit it’s what he really wants, what he really _needs._ “Break me.”

The other man laughs softly, breath hot on his neck, and Dean shivers as the man begins to lick and suck at the column of his neck.

“Anything for you, Dean,” the man says after he’s gotten his fill of the taste of Dean’s skin. “Untie him,” he says to Jimmy.

“If we untie you, are you gonna be good and not try to touch yourself before we say you can?” Jimmy asks Dean. Dean nods, although he’s desperate for someone to touch him, to get him off.

“Mm-hmm. I’ll be good.”

He feels Jimmy lift his wrists to begin untying them, and the tension in his shoulders and arms loosens as he’s slowly unbound. He hadn’t realized that his shoulders and upper arms were starting to ache, and as Jimmy unwinds the last bit of rope from around his wrists, he finds that his wrists are raw. Jimmy kisses each one, promising to take care of them later.

The other man disappears from behind him, but Dean hears him speak up only a moment later. “Bring him over here, have him face me.” Jimmy does as asked, gently turning Dean around and pushing him in the direction of the other man. “Now have him straddle me.” Jimmy listens to that, too, pushing Dean down so that he lands awkwardly atop the other man, legs folded beneath him and his cock pressed up against what he decides is the other man’s hip. He feels the other man adjust his position, making him feel a little more comfortable. Dean reaches out blindly, feeling fabric beneath his hands. He moves his hands up the man’s chest and over well-defined shoulders, finding damp strands of hair. He tugs on them, just for the hell of it.

“Hey,” the man admonishes gently. “Don’t pull my hair, come on.” Dean feels him place hands on his waist, and he smiles, even though he has no fucking idea what he’s smiling about.

“Gonna fuck me?” he asks, everything feeling a little hazier than it had earlier.

“That’s the plan,” the man tells him. Dean decides that he really, really likes this plan.

“Want it now,” Dean urges. “Please.” He’s still hard as hell, and he still needs to be touched, fucked, stimulated _somehow._

“Hmm,” the man says, as if he’s considering the suggestion. “If you tell me you’re my whore who constantly needs my dick to be satisfied, I’ll give you what you want.”

Dean chews on his lip, debating the offer.

“Or,” the man continues, “you’ll just have to be patient and wait.”

Dean doesn’t want to wait any longer, doesn’t think he’d even be capable of waiting any longer. “I’m your whore who constantly needs your dick to be satisfied,” he says, the words rushing out of him like water breaking through a dam. He barely even registers what he’s saying; only the warmth that runs through his veins when the man praises him for saying it. He feels the man’s hands move down to his waist and press him upward, just the slightest bit.

“Wait,” Dean hears Jimmy speak up from behind him.

“ _What?_ ” the man asks, sounding for all the world like he intends to kill Jimmy for interrupting him.

“He’s gonna need more lube,” Jimmy says. “We don’t want to seriously hurt him, c’mon.”

The other man sighs. “Fine, you’re right.” His hands disappear from Dean’s waist not long after, and Dean hears the _click_ of a bottle opening. Only a moment later, he feels a finger circling his hole before pressing into it and sinking in. Dean gasps involuntarily, grabbing at the man’s shoulders so that he doesn’t end up losing his balance and making a fool out of himself.

“Open up for me, baby,” the man murmurs, and Dean does his best to relax. He’s so turned on that even the slightest touch makes him feel like he’s on fire, and his whole body is thrumming with need. When Dean’s relaxed enough, the man adds a second finger and spreads them, and Dean sinks his fingernails into the space between the curve of the man’s neck and the curve of his shoulder, moaning at the sensation of being filled and stretched open wide. He can’t help but whimper when the man pulls his fingers out an inch or two, and then pushes them back in, beginning to fuck Dean with his fingers. Dean rocks into it, enjoying himself thoroughly. The man slowly, ever so slowly, adds a third finger, and Dean groans at the burn of the stretch, trying to relax, to open up, as the man presses kisses into the column of his neck.

“C’mon, Mox,” Jimmy coaxes from behind him. “Open up for us. Be a good boy.”

Eventually, the pain fades until only the pleasure is noticeable, and the man begins to fuck him with those three fingers, making Dean writhe and moan with the sensations crawling their way through his veins and sinking down into his bones. He eventually asks for more, almost whispering the request into the man’s neck, adding a shaky ‘Please’ at the end for good measure. The man seems hesitant to oblige him, but he does, pressing a fourth finger against Dean’s hole. Almost immediately, pain flares up and drowns out the pleasure, and Dean cries out. The man stops immediately, and then Jimmy’s up in Dean’s ear, murmuring soothing words to him.

“Is that too much, Dean?” the man finally asks. Dean shakes his head fervently; no, he can take it. He’s a good boy. He’ll do whatever they want him to, and he’ll do it with pleasure.

“Jus’ need to get used to it,” he supplies, dropping his head down so that his forehead presses against the man’s shoulder. The man doesn’t move an inch, letting Dean adjust, and when the pain finally ebbs away, Dean murmurs ‘more’ in his ear, and the man complies. He still feels a slight burn as the man pushes his fourth finger deeper, but there’s more pleasure than pain, and he feels good when the man bottoms out.

He feels full.

He likes it.

“Doing okay?” the man asks. Dean nods, about to speak up when the man pulls his fingers out a little bit and pushes them back in, starting to fuck him with four fingers, and whatever Dean intended to say dissolves on his tongue. He moans shamelessly as the man finger-fucks him, rocking back on those fingers in an attempt to get more. He’s starting to get really into it when the man pulls his fingers out entirely. Dean whines in complaint, feeling empty; too empty for his liking.

“Don’t worry,” the man reassures him. “I’m gonna fuck you now, okay?”

Dean can definitely get with that. He nods, feeling the man’s hand move back to his waist so that he can be maneuvered. He feels the head of the man’s cock rub against his hole, and he presses back, trying to sink down onto it.

“Wait a second,” the man says, voice sounding strained. Dean has to bite back the disappointed sound that wants to escape from his lips – he’s so fucking tired of waiting, he wants it _now_ – but he does as asked, thighs trembling a little from the strain of holding himself up at an odd angle. “Okay, go ahead,” he finally hears.

He’s been waiting long enough, so when he sinks down onto the man’s cock, he can’t stop the moan of ‘fuck _yes_ ’ that slips from his lips. It’s filling him perfectly, and the pain from the slight stretch is minimal, so much so that he hardly notices it.

“Fuck, he looks so good like that, I want a piece of him,” Jimmy speaks up from behind him. Their comments earlier about fucking Dean at the same time come back to him, flashing in his mind like a neon sign. He shudders just thinking about it, his arousal spiking.

He’s so ready for it.

“Want more,” Dean pants out, holding himself up only an inch or two from where the man would bottom out. “Please.” He’s said ‘please’ so many goddamn times today that he’s entirely sure someone else is operating his body for the time being.

“You heard him,” the man calls over Dean’s shoulder, momentarily directing his attention to Jimmy. Dean feels Jimmy slip behind him, body flush with his, hands warm and tracing unfamiliar patterns on his back before they eventually settle on his waist.

“Can you handle both of us, Mox?” Jimmy asks, low in his ear. Dean doesn’t even get a chance to respond, because Jimmy provides an answer to his own question before Dean can even begin to gather his thoughts. “I know you can.”

Dean hisses when he feels the head of Jimmy’s cock rub briefly against his stretched-out hole, and for a moment he worries that he won’t be able to take the two of them, that they really _will_ split him in half. But then Jimmy is slowly, carefully pushing in, and even though he stops when only the head of his cock has made it in, Dean feels like everything’s on fire, and not particularly the good kind. He feels raw, stretched open, even split open, but they have yet to officially start.

He focuses on becoming accustomed to the sensation, pressing his face into the man’s shoulder to hide the emotions he knows are clearly visible on his face. Eventually, the pain starts to lessen, although he still feels stretched wider than he’s ever been stretched, but a part of him is getting off on it, on being used by the two of them in such a filthy manner. He lifts his head when he thinks he’s okay and rasps “More,” because he’s Dean fucking Ambrose and he doesn’t know when to stop. Jimmy pushes in a little bit more, and again he has to pause to allow Dean the time to recuperate from the effort.

It takes several minutes, but eventually, Jimmy bottoms out, His cock is pressed up against the other man’s, and it’s such an impossibly tight fit that Dean has no idea how the fuck it worked, but it worked, and he feels fuller than ever.

Dean really, really likes it.

He thinks listening to Jimmy might be one of the best decisions he’s made in 2012 thus far.

“Move,” Dean begs the two of them. He wants them to fuck him, _really_ fuck him, just like this. He doesn’t know if it’s even possible (although he hopes it is), but he figures there’s no harm in trying.

Jimmy starts to move first, and they all moan at the sensation the motion brings; his cock drags up against both the inside of Dean’s ass and the side of the other man’s cock, providing extra stimulation. He starts a slow, careful rhythm that makes Dean feel like every nerve in his body is alight with feeling. Dean struggles not to touch himself, with the way Jimmy’s fucking him multiplying his need by a thousand percent, but he has to be good. He _has_ to be.

It doesn’t take long for Jimmy to come, the extra stimulation bringing him over the edge faster than usual. He gives one particularly hard thrust that nearly topples Dean over and comes inside him, and Dean swears Jimmy bites his shoulder in the midst of his orgasm, but he’s got no way to tell for sure. When Jimmy pulls out, Dean, oddly enough, feels somewhat empty, even though he’d been pushed to his limits with the two of them inside him at once. The other man starts to fuck into him, his thrusts rough and off-beat, as if he’s purely searching release instead of making Dean feel good. He comes with a loud moan, and Dean’s cock throbs at the sensation. Dean wants nothing more than to get himself off, but his pride and the steel ring that’s been placed on him are preventing him from achieving that.

When the man tugs Dean upward a little so he can pull out, Dean caves in.

“Touch me,” Dean pleads, rocking his hips forward, seeking friction but finding nothing. “Please, touch me, I wanna come so bad, please.”

“What do you say, Jimmy?” the other man asks after a pause, sounding amused. “Has he been good? Should we let him come?”

“I think we should,” Jimmy vocalizes.

Dean nearly cries when he feels the steel ring being pulled off of his cock, and he jerks forward when a rough, calloused hand wraps around his dick and begins stroking. He’s been teetering near the edge for so long that it only takes a few strokes for him to come, and when he comes, he comes so hard that he’s pretty sure he blacks out for a few seconds. When his orgasm has finished sweeping through him, he feels like he’s been hit by a train followed by a parade of cars, and he goes limp atop the other man, who only laughs quietly before gently pushing Dean off his lap and onto the other couch cushions.

Even though his limbs are wobbly and his wrists still burn like a bitch, Dean manages to maneuver himself into a semi-decent sitting position, relaxing into the couch as if it were his own bed.

Then again, his bed might actually be less comfortable than this couch; certainly less fun, with all the activities that just conspired.

Dean feels the couch shift and realizes that the man is getting up off of it and walking away; hopefully, to get something to clean all of them up with. Dean’s too tired to drag his ass into his shitty apartment shower, but he’s pretty sure some of the cum on his stomach has dried enough to become another layer of skin. He _hates_ how hard cum is to get off after it dries.

Plus, his sore ass is leaking cum, and it’s going to stain the cushions if someone doesn’t get him a towel.

He hears the other man and Jimmy talking about something in hushed tones, standing several feet away from him by his best estimate. Despite his exhaustion, his heart leaps into his throat when he realizes that this might be his chance to confirm or deny if the ‘mystery man’ is who he thinks it is. He knows there are risks for peeking – he clearly remembers the man saying ‘ _If he sees me, we’re fucked’_ yesterday or however long ago that was, and there’s always the chance they could be facing him while they talk or not be as focused on the conversation as he thinks they are – but he feels like in this instance, ignoring the risks and consequences is a necessity.

Ignorance is bliss, right?

Slowly, in hopes of not attracting attention, he raises a hand to the blindfold – which he notes has become rather loose by now – and pushes it upward, just enough so that he can peek out from underneath the blindfold’s thinnest edge.

The other man has his back to Dean, thankfully, and he catches a flash of blonde hair and a tattoo down the middle of his back consisting of symbols Dean can't quite make out from this distance.

Panic crushes Dean's lungs, thick and heavy and overwhelming. He can't breathe.

He knows that tattoo.

Knows he's touched it, dug his nails into it, bit and licked and sucked it, even came on it.

Now he understands.

_It's him. It's him it's him it's him._

Dean had suspected it was him, but he didn't really expect it to be him. Thought it was just his imagination or the drug fucking with him.

But if Dean's got any brain matter left after the previous events of who-the-fuck-knows-how-long, he's going to kill both Jimmy and his accomplice.

He barely hears Jimmy speaking to him over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears, barely registering Jimmy's disapproving tone, his statement of "No peeking, Mox," as he moves to readjust the blindfold.

Dean doesn't know if it's from the drug or the realization, or maybe a little of both, but he starts to feel dizzier than he should, like he's slowly losing grasp of his consciousness.

He tries as hard as he possibly can to keep hold of it, scrabbling desperately at its edge, but he can’t quite grasp it.

As he falls, everything—the seemingly-distant sounds of the voices starting to argue in front of him, the louder sounds of the voices in his head screaming at him about what a giant fucking mistake he's just made, what a fuck-up he is, a piercing screech with an unknown source feeling like a nail being pounded through his skull—goes silent.


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yeah, I admit it.”  
> “Then explain yourself before I kill you, you piece of shit. So maybe you’ll have one less black mark on your conscience before you go.”

When Dean wanders back into the FCW locker room for the first time after being cornered by Jimmy, it feels like it’s been forever.

Everything feels unfamiliar, a little out of shape, and Dean’s got his defenses raised as high as they can be, watching everyone and everything warily, as if they’re likely to rip him to shreds when he turns his back.

He’s nearly dragged into what he refers to as “the principal’s office” the moment he steps through the door, the general manager seeking him out, her face stern and lips pressed together in a thin line.

Dean’s not an idiot; he knows what that means.

He makes himself comfortable in the chair facing her desk, hurling his duffel bag on the floor—silently cursing when it skids across the floor and slows to a stop under the desk, just out of his reach—and slouching down, forearms resting atop his thighs.

“So what’s this about?” he asks casually, as if he doesn’t know.

“Where have you been?”

Dean scrunches his face up as he tries to remember where he’s been that day. “Am I late? Well, uh, I stopped at this gas station down the street to get some snacks. I was hungry, y’know? ‘N I hate wrestling when I’m hungry. ‘Cause I just end up thinkin’ about food the whole time. So I didn’t wanna be—“

“Dean.”

“What?”

“Is this a joke to you? I could be calling you in here to fire you. You’ve been gone for a _month._ ”

Dean peers at the calendar on the wall behind her, over her shoulder, reading _“June”_ at the top.

So he _has_ been gone for a month.

He’s going to fucking kill Jimmy.

Seth, too.

He hopes Seth’s here. He’ll strangle the motherfucker and take his championship—if he’s somehow still got it—all at once.

Maybe he’ll strangle him _with_ his championship.

That would be just perfect.

“Dean.”

He blinks, his mind finally coming back to reality as he remembers where he is and what he’s supposed to be doing.

“Aren’t you going to explain yourself? You owe me a hell of an explanation if you want to keep your job,” the general manager says, looking more pissed by the minute.

He needs this job. Wrestling is the goddamn air he breathes; he’d be dead without it, choked by the fumes of the shitty life granted to him by the cards he was dealt when he was born.

So he tells her the truth.

“I was kidnapped by some demons from my past,” he says, voice solemn and face straight, for once. The seconds tick by in silence as he offers no more of an explanation and he doesn’t receive an immediate response. He just waits, waits for her to say something, waits for permission to get the hell out of here so he can go do his thing, because sitting in this cramped, cluttered excuse for an office waiting to hear the status of his future is making him more anxious than he’d like to admit.

“Very funny,” the general manager finally says, but she’s not laughing. “You’re very lucky to be in the position that you are. If you were anyone else, you would have been fired first thing. You’ve had problems before, we’ve given you second and third chances, but you’ve relapsed.”

He flinches at the word.

“However,” she continues, “as much as I hate to admit it, you are an asset to this company. We’ve seen your potential, particularly in the matches you’ve had with Seth Rollins, and you seem to be drawing a lot of attention. Merch sales, ratings, the response we’ve received when mentioning that we’re considering including you in a live event tour.”

 _That’s_ news to him.

“I have no doubts that, should I choose not to fire you, and you maintain _some_ kind of semi-decent behavior, that you’ll go on to do great things in the WWE. But, if I choose to fire you, you’ll have no choice but to go back to your old, unknown companies if you want to continue wrestling, and I can assure you, WWE would never consider you in the future.”

He decides right then and there that whether or not he walks out of this room with a job, he’s going to murder Jimmy Jacobs and Seth Rollins.

Dean doesn’t offer a response, and he works hard to keep his face carefully neutral, not wanting to tip the scale one way or another. Finally, the general manager sighs, a heavy sigh that indicates just how she feels about the situation.

“I’m not going to fire you, Dean. I am, however, going to give you a warning: If you misbehave in _any_ way in the future, you almost certainly will be fired. If you don’t show up again for a long period of time, you’ll be fired. If you get into a fight in the locker room again, you’ll be fired. Do I make myself clear?”

Dean nods.

“You’re dismissed,” she says flatly, her tone revealing to Dean what she really means: _Get the fuck out of my sight._

That’s one thing Dean’s always been good at, so he gets out of there as fast as he can, delayed only by his having to crawl under the desk to retrieve his duffel bag. But once he’s out of that room, it feels like some of the weight’s been lifted off his shoulders.

Only some. Not enough.

Once he’s out, Dean tosses his duffel bag in his locker and proceeds to go on a hunt for Roman, traipsing around the crowded locker room in hopes of finding him, but his search comes up empty. He _does,_ however, find Seth, with the championship he doesn’t deserve thrown over his shoulder and clenched tight in one hand.

When their eyes meet, Seth tips his head to the left slightly, as if indicating he wants to talk in private. But there’s a fury that fills Dean’s bones as soon as he sees the other man, with his stupid half-blonde hair and his smug grin.

“Outside,” Dean mouths. He’s got more than enough incentive to kill him, but he’s not going to risk his career once more by doing it inside. But because Seth’s a dumbass, he doesn’t understand what Dean’s trying to say, doesn’t move even an inch.

All of Dean’s patience is gone, so he grabs Seth by the championship belt and drags him outside through a rarely-used side door.

* * *

“What the _fuck,_ Dean?!” Seth shouts once they’re outside and at least fifty feet from the door they’d exited the building from. Dean doesn’t even care that he’s already burning up in the humid Orlando heat, even though it’s late afternoon. All he cares about is murdering Seth Rollins.

“I know what you fucking did, you asshole,” Dean snarls. “You almost got me _fired._ I could kill you right now. In fact, I will.”

Seth actually looks frightened, and Dean feels a warm bloom of pride in his chest. _He_ did that. _He_ made Seth Rollins look like the scared little bitch he is.

“Dean, Dean, wait,” Seth says quickly as Dean stalks forward. He places a hand on Dean’s chest, stopping him in his tracks. “I can explain, wait.”

Seth’s touch burns like the rush of a drug he doesn’t want to be addicted to, even though he’s already addicted.

Dean fucking hates it.

“So you admit it?”

Seth sighs, staring down at the ground for a moment too long before his eyes meet Dean’s once more. “Yeah, I admit it.”

“Then explain yourself before I kill you, you piece of shit. So maybe you’ll have one less black mark on your conscience before you go.”

Dean’s already decided that whatever bullshit explanation Seth can make up in the span of thirty seconds, he’s not forgiving him, not accepting it. Seth put him on the verge of losing it all, on the verge of having to go back to Cincinnati, to live with the monsters he came to Orlando to escape. And in Dean’s opinion, that’s not a forgivable thing.

The words spill out of Seth in one long rush that, when it’s over, makes Dean sick. If his stomach wasn’t empty, he would vomit. “I needed to get you out of the way for a little while so I could make things right with Roman, so I called Jimmy because he’d told me before that he had a history with you, so I got him to get you out of the way so I could make up with Roman.”

“For a whole fucking _month?!”_ Dean spits.

“That was on Jimmy!” Seth protests. “I only asked for a few days. He’s the one who decided on it being an entire month. And I couldn’t stop him once he started. You know how he is, Dean, come on.”

Dean’s shaking with anger he’s forgotten how to control.

“And was it worth it? Did you ‘ _make up’_ with him?” Dean’s not even sure if he wants to know the answer.

Seth smiles, somehow lazy and smug at the same time. “Definitely. I _really_ made up with him, if you know what I mean.”

“You _son of a bitch!”_

The last thing Dean remembers is shoving Seth down so hard against the concrete that he hears something crack.

He hopes it’s Seth’s skull.  


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one stops him.
> 
> There’s no one else around to prevent Dean from unleashing the fury inside of him, the fury that’s lying in wait red-hot in his bones. Not the people inside the building they’d just left, not the people inside the neighboring buildings, not the people in fast cars on the freeway half a mile away.
> 
> No one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is both violent and emotional and it was /very/ hard for me to write... so I assume it'll be hard to read, too. Read with caution.

No one stops him.

There’s no one else around to prevent Dean from unleashing the fury inside of him, the fury that’s lying in wait red-hot in his bones. Not the people inside the building they’d just left, not the people inside the neighboring buildings, not the people in fast cars on the freeway half a mile away.

No one.

A week from now, he won’t remember what he’s doing; the white-hot rage that fuels his actions ends up blurring his memory, as if he’s a different person in this moment, no longer Dean Ambrose.

It might not be that far from the truth.

He hits Seth. Hits him over and over again, until Dean’s lost track of where they are, what he’s doing. Hits him until pain is lancing up his arms from the blows, hits him until the red Dean sees is no longer anger but blood.

There’s so much blood, and Dean doesn’t know if it’s his or Seth’s. It’s on the concrete surrounding them, it’s on his skin, it’s on Seth’s skin, it’s defacing Seth’s pretty little title belt that’s fallen to the side of his body.

Dean’s never seen so much blood on his hands since his violent matches in companies that promoted extreme wrestling, the matches that feel like a lifetime ago, like a different person ago.

There’s a voice in his head talking to him as he crouches over Seth’s motionless body, telling him all the things he doesn’t want to hear, things he doesn’t want to hear because he knows they’re true.

 _You’re a monster, Dean,_ the voice says. _Look, you’ve got actual blood on your hands to prove it._

He feels sick.

_You turned out to be what they always said you’d be. A murderer. A thief. A junkie._

He presses the palms of his hands over his eyes, as if that’ll block out the voice.

_Just like your father. Just like your mother. You know CPS took your kid cousin away because they thought you were a threat to her, not because her parents were missing._

“Stop,” Dean says desperately, his voice cracking on the word.

_Admit it. You’re **nothing.** Might as well go back to Cincinnati, there’s nothing left for you here. Bet the company will fire you, Roman won’t want you, and Seth sure as hell won’t want you, if he even makes it out of this alive._

“Stop,” he repeats.

_What if you killed him, Dean? What if it’s too late for you to save him?_

“Stop,” he says again, something like panic starting to bubble in his chest, tears welling in his eyes.

_Maybe you hit him hard enough to paralyze him, and he’ll never wrestle again. And you’ll have to live with the fact that you ruined everything for him._

“Stop,” he says, frantic now. “Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, STOP!”

He screams himself hoarse, but it does the trick, because the voice goes mercifully silent.

“Seth,” he croaks out as he pulls his hands away from his face, crouching over Seth and beginning to prod at him, panic constricting his lungs.

Seth’s eyes are shut, head listing to one side. Blood has stained the blonde patch of his hair a sickening pink. His face is smeared with more blood, enough that Dean can’t make out the damage he’s done (although Dean’s hands are starting to ache, so he really hopes the blood is just his own, that he’s just busted his knuckles, but there’s too much blood for it to just be busted knuckles).

“Goddamnit, Seth, please don’t be dead,” he whispers, hands shaking as he palms Seth’s cheek, trying to get something out of him.

Nothing.

“ _Seth,_ ” Dean says, a half-sob. He can’t be gone, he can’t be gone. The tears welling in his eyes are starting to overflow, dripping down to soak into the blood-stained material of Seth’s tank top. “Please,” he begs. “Please, please, please, I need you, please, stay with me, please.”

Everyone he’s ever given a shit about has left him. He doesn’t want to add Seth to the list.

In the midst of his prodding and poking, desperately hoping Seth will twitch, open his eyes, do _something_ , Dean remembers something he’d read somewhere, maybe in a useless book he’d glanced at for school, back when he still gave a shit about it (which was a very long time ago).

He leans over Seth’s body, propping himself up with a hand on the ground, just next to the curve of Seth’s elbow, and shoves the other hand under Seth’s nose.

There, he feels it.

A puff of breath.

Dean nearly crumples with the force of the relief he feels. Forcing himself not to, he reminds himself that the priority here is to wake Seth up. Dean _has_ to make sure he’s okay.

He’s also got to do it before one of the other wrestlers decides to use the side door for a smoke break. It’s happened; not very often, but often enough for it to be a mild concern to Dean.

Dean maneuvers himself into a sitting position, legs folded, and, with what feels like all the strength left in his body, pulls Seth into his lap. Seth’s like a ragdoll, nothing more than heavy weight in Dean’s arms, despite the fact that he’s still alive.

 “Seth, c’mon, you gotta wake up,” he says, slapping Seth’s arm lightly, too afraid of hurting him again to do much more than that. “C’mon, we got shit to do. Gotta wrestle each other ‘n shit. I still gotta take your championship from ya, ‘member?”

There’s no response, and Dean struggles to push down the worry that tastes like bile in his throat.

“We gotta… fuck, I dunno, go to that one place you said you liked. Remember? You were pissed ‘cause no one would take ya even though it was only three miles from here.”

Still nothing. Dean swallows hard, blinking back fresh tears.

“What was it even called? I don’t remember the name, it was that bad. I just remember it was some fancy ass sushi place. Prob’ly costs more for one meal for two than it costs to live in my apartment for a month. I can’t afford that shit, but whatever. Guess I’ll go into debt for ya, princess,” Dean says, and the nickname slips out so instinctively that his chest seizes half a minute later, when he realizes what he’d called Seth.

He waits, different emotions cycling through him at a pace that leaves him disoriented as he listens for a response, looks for a twitch of a hand or a foot or _something._

When there’s still nothing, a large part of Dean’s reserve shatters into tiny fragments that he can almost see glittering in the Florida sunlight. The tears are starting to fall faster now, and he gathers up Seth and draws him in tight, burying his face in the brown half of Seth’s hair as he cries. He doesn’t know what he’s crying about; maybe it’s about what he’s done to Seth, maybe it’s about how Seth’s not waking up, maybe it’s about how he knows Seth will never forgive him, maybe it’s about how he’s truly become the monster they said he would become, even though he swore he’d prove them wrong.

It feels like there’s a hole in his chest, eating through each of his layers until there’s nothing left but a place for him to rot.

Maybe it’s what he deserves.

In the midst of his tears, with his face buried in the other man’s hair, he doesn’t see Seth slowly open his eyes, those eyes looking hazy and confused, more like a lost child than anything else.

He doesn’t feel Seth grasp his wrist, either.

And he misses entirely the way Seth curls into him once awake, like Dean’s his protector from the entirety of the world, when maybe what Seth really needs is a protector from Dean.


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking over the other man for what feels like eternity when it’s probably no more than thirty seconds, he realizes Seth is clutching his wrist, fingers being bloodied from the blood smeared over the back of Dean’s hand. And Seth’s angling towards him, like Dean’s going to protect him from the sickness of the world, even though the sickness of the world is just a mirror of his heart.
> 
> Seth should know that by now.

When Dean finally realizes that Seth’s awake, that he’s moving, Dean nearly loses it.

He’d been so close to losing Seth; he’s sure of it. All because of what his own hands had done.

He thinks he doesn’t want them anymore.

Dean sniffles and breathes a watery sigh of relief when Seth turns his head to look at him. Seth’s eyes are hazy with confusion, but he’s still there.

“You fuckin’ asshole. Thought you went out on me there,” Dean says, trying his hardest to cover up the fact that he’d just bawled like a baby over someone he wasn’t supposed to give a shit about.

He can feel the truth eating away at him, consuming whatever remnants there may be of his soul, of his sanity.

He cares about Seth. More than he ever should have. More than he ever wanted to. And it’s going to be the thing that kills him off once and for all if he doesn’t get away from it all.

But getting away isn’t his priority right now, although maybe it should be. No, his priority is making sure Seth’s okay, a thought that scares him for reasons too numerous and all-encompassing to list.

Seth doesn’t answer, and that evokes a pang of worry in Dean’s gut, one he immediately tries to smother.

He shouldn’t care about Seth this much.

He doesn’t even care about himself this much.

Looking over the other man for what feels like eternity when it’s probably no more than thirty seconds, he realizes Seth is clutching his wrist, fingers being bloodied from the blood smeared over the back of Dean’s hand. And Seth’s angling towards him, like Dean’s going to protect him from the sickness of the world, even though the sickness of the world is just a mirror of his heart.

Seth should know that by now.

The silence stretches between them, Seth offering no words of his own and Dean offering no more, until one of the fragments of Dean’s resolve cracks a little bit more.

“Say somethin’,” he urges Seth. “C’mon. Be a smart-ass like you always are.”

That earns Dean a weak rasp of a laugh from the other man, followed by words mumbled so softly they’re unintelligible to him.

“What’d you say?” Dean asks.

“I said—“ Seth pauses and coughs, and Dean’s heart seizes at the fresh blood he sees leak from the corner of Seth’s mouth, “—what the hell did I miss?”

“You were mugged ‘n I saved you from bein’ killed.”

It’s the worst lie he’s ever told.

Seth smiles, a tiny smile that looks wrong on him in such a situation, suddenly looking too faint for Dean’s liking.

“C’mon, Seth,” Dean urges. “Don’t fall asleep on me. We got things to do, you ‘n me.” He tries his hardest to keep the mild, lingering panic out of his voice.

Seth scoffs, making a noise that promptly dissolves into a coughing fit. When he recovers, he actually rolls his eyes at Dean—the fuckin’ diva, Dean thinks, and almost smiles—before he speaks. “What makes you think I’m gonna fall asleep? I’m not tired. At all.”

The biggest fuckin’ diva of them all.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. Just checkin’.” Dean responds, pretending that he doesn’t at all care about Seth’s wellbeing at the moment.

Pretending’s always been easy for him, but this may as well be the hardest act of pretending he’s ever done.

Deciding he needs to get Seth cleaned up, he slowly pulls himself to his feet, pulling Seth up with him with more care than he ever thought could exist in his own hands. Seth groans and presses his face into Dean’s neck, and Dean relaxes for the half-second it takes him to remember the situation he’s placed the two of them in. Then it’s back to the familiar tension radiating from his limbs and anxiety clogging his lungs and throat.  

“You need a fucking massage,” Seth mumbles against his skin. “You’re so tense. Live a little, Dean-o.”

Dean almost wants to kiss him.

He doesn’t know why he wants to, but he knows he wants to.

It takes the little pieces that make up the remainder of his self-control not to kiss Seth, but to figure out his plan of action. He has to get the two of them cleaned up, has to make sure he didn’t break Seth (although with the way the other man’s still running his mouth, Dean’s fairly certain he didn’t), but if he walks back in the door he’d dragged the two of them out through, he’s done. Someone will tattle, or he’ll walk right into the fucking general manager herself, and just like that, his career will be over.

He can’t afford to take that risk.

So he repositions Seth, slinging one of the other man’s arms over his shoulder and letting Seth slump against him, before he starts off in the direction of the gas station half a mile away.

“C’mon, Sethie, we’re gonna go for a walk.”

He pointedly ignores Seth’s pitiful-sounding whines of complaint as they slowly make their way up the street.

* * *

When they finally make it to the gas station, Dean can feel sweat beading in uncomfortable places to mix with the blood on his skin, and more than anything right now, he could use a shower, but unfortunately for him, showers aren’t a thing in gas stations.

He has to nearly drag Seth through the door, the other man having decided to go limp as a form of protest to being moved, and he feels like the world’s heaviest brick in Dean’s aching, tired arms.

Thankfully, the gas station appears to be empty, aside from the cashier, who’s blatantly gawking at them. Dean knows they look like a very questionable mess, so he manages to pull his wallet from the pocket of his jeans and toss the $20 he intended to use for the next week’s food at the guy to keep him quiet.

Dean’s lucky the gas station doesn’t require a key to be obtained from the cashier to open the bathroom door, as it opens for him when he jams his shoulder against it and presses his fist into the handle to turn it.

Once inside, he props Seth up against the wall and promptly locks the door, not wanting to risk even the miniscule chance of someone finding them like this.

When Dean turns back to face Seth, he finds that even though the other man’s stable, he’s gone back to complaining.

Typical.

“What are we even doing, Dean,” he mutters, making it sound like more of a statement than a question. “Where the hell are we. I got things to do, you know.”

Dean sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, hoping to induce enough pain to keep him from laughing. It seems to work, and after a few moments, he releases it to speak. “Like what?”

“Like… things,” Seth splutters indignantly, waving his hand at Dean in a way that he knows means ‘fuck you, Ambrose’. “ _Things._ ‘S time I can never get back.”

“I hate you, Seth,” Dean says, but he can feel his lips twitch, and when he glances in the mirror, he finds he’s smiling.

“I hate you too, Dean,” Seth says, but he’s smiling too, and Dean feels that warmth in his chest again, sinking down into his bones and reaching even the coldest depths of what’s left of his heart.

He’s a little terrified of what Seth can do to him.

“C’mon, you need to get cleaned up,” Dean finally says, moving to the sink and grabbing a handful of paper towels in an attempt to break the odd tension that had made itself known between them. He turns on the sink and shoves the paper towels into the flow, staring at himself in the mirror while he does so.

He’s a fucking mess; his face is covered in drying blood, a look that reminds him of his days working the extreme wrestling circuit. There are sticky blood trails down his neck and arms, and his shirt and jeans are also thoroughly stained with blood. Frowning at his reflection, he puts the wet paper towels to the side and shoves his hands under the faucet, scrubbing at his skin with dirtied nails and watching as flecks of blood come off his skin and color the water a sickening shade of red.

He scrubs until there are only traces of blood left on his hands, then grabs the paper towels and begins to work on his face. He focuses intently on his task, not even really hearing Seth starting to complain once more, this time about ‘Dean putting himself first’.

When the majority of the blood is gone from his face, Dean sets to work on his neck and arms and chest, deciding to worry about his clothes later. He cleans himself up as best as he can, although he definitely needs a shower once he gets back to his apartment, his clothes still blood-soaked and skin still uncomfortably sticky.

It’s only when he’s soaking some more paper towels with water that he comes back to himself, the string of Seth’s complaints finally filtering into something intelligible in his ears. He realizes his hands are throbbing, and examining them, he finds that his knuckles are swollen almost comically, and the back of his hands and fingers are laced with tiny, inexplicable cuts. His left elbow is also swollen, and pain lances up his arm every time he pokes it. There’s also a jagged cut down his right bicep that looks like it could’ve been created with a particularly sharp fingernail.

 _Oh, Cincinnati,_ he thinks bitterly. _How I’ve missed you._

When he approaches Seth with a new set of wet paper towels, Seth’s leaning against the wall, watching him with half-lidded eyes, and he hardly reacts when Dean reaches out and grabs his arm to start cleaning it. Dean expects more of a reaction, but he gets virtually nothing but a flutter of eyelashes, even when he grabs Seth’s other arm and repeats the process.

He tosses those paper towels in the trash and soaks some more to clean Seth’s face and hair, although Seth will definitely need a shower, too.

Dean reaches for Seth’s face, and that’s where he gets a reaction; his thumb passes within fractions of Seth’s lips when he gets his hand on Seth’s face, and Seth turns his head and kisses Dean’s thumb.

Dean blinks, momentarily startled, and Seth bites his thumb. Not hard, just a nip, almost as if he’s playing with Dean.

Testing the waters, even.

“Seth, what are you—“

“Shh.”

Dean’s confused as hell, but for once, he shuts up. Seth smiles again, in that dazed, something’s-not-quite-right way. Dean wonders if Seth’s head hit the pavement hard enough to give him a concussion, because his brain certainly doesn’t seem to be in the same place as it was only a couple weeks before.

The air between them is heavy with a kind of tension Dean doesn’t want to name, doesn’t want to acknowledge, even though it’s undeniably there.

“I have to—“

“I said _shh._ Shut your _mouth,_ Ambrose. You talk too much. God. And I thought _I_ was the loudmouth around here.”

“I’m not—“

“Goddamnit, Dean, if you don’t shut up, I’m leaving.”

Dean doesn’t know where the hell Seth would go if he _did_ leave, so he obliges Seth.

“That’s better,” Seth declares.

In one swift movement, he bumps Dean’s hand hard enough to knock the wet paper towels out of his hand and onto the floor, but Dean can’t find it in himself to care. He just watches Seth eyeing him with something that looks like hunger.

“Come closer,” Seth breathes, and there’s not even that much distance between them to begin with, but Dean won’t protest. He moves a few inches closer, and from this distance, they’re nearly touching.

“Closer,” Seth murmurs, almost a purr. Dean sighs heavily, his body thrumming with what feels like a mixture of adrenaline and anticipation, and shifts closer, pressing his body flush against Seth’s, one leg in between Seth’s legs and their faces mere inches apart.

“That’s better,” Seth decides, and Dean can’t help but agree. He’s fallen too deep into this trap to get out now.

“You know,” Seth whispers conspiratorially a second later, “you’re really hot when you’re angry.”


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not until he falls asleep thinking and wakes up only a few hours later, groggy and dazed as the sunlight streams in through a dirty window, that he remembers he can’t get what he wants because he’s Dean Ambrose, and life has dealt him its shittiest hand.

The statement makes Dean freeze, something like anger washing through him, but he can’t afford to get pissed off again. One look at Seth’s bloodied face tells him that. And yet, even as Dean clenches his fists and tries his hardest to breathe and control his anger, he can feel it spiraling out of control already.

“What?”

“I said you’re really hot when you’re angry.”

A silence stretches between them, and Seth shifts a little and reaches up to toy with the strands of hair at the back of Dean’s head. Dean twitches a little, fighting the urge to pull Seth’s hands out of his hair, because now this feels wrong. Feels like he’s walking into yet another trap, but this one is a death sentence.

“Seth,” he says, trying to keep his voice calm, because if they get into another fight he knows this one definitely won’t end well, “are you trying to tell me you started saying those things because you wanted to piss me off?”

“Uh… yeah, I guess,” Seth responds, sounding a little bit distracted. Dean knows what he wants, can feel the heat of his body all over him, can feel the weight of Seth’s staring, but he refuses to give in.

“Did you really sleep with Roman, then?”

Seth looks away, huffs out a short, sharp laugh that sounds the way Dean feels right now.

“No,” he admits. “I mean, I think I did make up with him. But we didn’t do anything.”

Dean says nothing, and after another silence passes, heavy and thick, Seth’s gaze meets his, eyes insistent and searching, almost pleading.

“Do you believe me?” Seth asks.

And that’s the fucking question of the year. Dean wants to believe him, but at the same time, he doesn’t think he does. And even if it’s true, Dean nearly killed Seth just because Seth apparently wanted to see what he was like when he was angry.

Dean chews on his lip, pressing his palms into the wall, idly hoping that he’ll find a rough spot that’ll cut them open and make them bleed, because that would say more to Seth than words could right now.

“No,” Dean finally says, voice rough. “I don’t believe you.”

And he watches as Seth’s face falls, watches as Seth’s body language changes until he’s more like a child cowering away from punishment than a flirtatious twenty-something.

Something inside of Dean aches.

Dean pushes off the wall, stepping back and creating some distance between himself and Seth. Seth doesn’t react, and Dean tries to ignore the voice inside him, telling him that stepping away from Seth was an even worse decision than getting physically entangled with him.

He doesn’t know what he wants anymore.

He thinks he wants Roman, but he thinks also wants Seth, and sometimes in the hours where the sky outside his apartment is pitch-black and the streets are nearly empty and the world should be sleeping, Dean’s awake, sitting on the floor thinking about how fucked-up his life has gotten, and how he feels like a confused little boy in the fact that he wants both of them and he doesn’t understand why he can’t get what he wants.

It’s not until he falls asleep thinking and wakes up only a few hours later, groggy and dazed as the sunlight streams in through a dirty window, that he remembers he can’t get what he wants because he’s Dean Ambrose, and life has dealt him its shittiest hand.

Right now, he thinks he needs to find Roman and have a nice, long talk with him.

“Do you want me to clean your face or can you do it yourself?” Dean asks. He doesn’t really trust leaving Seth on his own right now. Seth could tattle, or he might walk out the gas station door and end up completely lost, end up going five miles in the wrong direction, and Dean will get a call saying ‘What’d you do to our champion, our _star?’_ and he’ll get fired even if he’s not responsible for Seth wandering off.

Seth doesn’t answer him, and Dean sighs impatiently. “Seth, come on. You need to get back to FCW, but you can’t walk in the door with your face looking like – well, like I just beat it in.”

He cringes a little as he says it, but it’s the unwelcome truth.

“Go away,” Seth finally mutters. Dean rolls his eyes; he’s definitely not in the mood to put up with Seth acting like a brat.

“Fine, I’ll do it for you,” Dean says, walking to the sink and grabbing a handful of paper towels, then soaking them in the water from the faucet after he turns it on. He turns the faucet off and walks back to Seth, reaching for his face.

“Don’t touch me,” Seth says immediately, shifting so the lines of his body are tense, angry.

“Seth—“

“ _Leave me alone_.”

There’s venom there that Dean’s never heard before, so he concedes.

“Fine,” he says, leaving the wet bundle of paper towels on the edge of the sink. His mind is telling him not to leave Seth—he can’t be trusted on his own—but being stuck in this small room with Seth for this long with the tension in the air is slowly chipping away at whatever sanity he has left.

Dean walks to the door and unlocks it, pausing with his hand on the handle. He turns slightly, glancing at Seth, who hasn’t moved.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says, and it comes out softer than he intended, more like a whisper. It sounds wrong on his tongue, and he’s not even sure what he’s apologizing for.

Seth doesn’t react, so Dean opens the door and steps out, letting it close on its own behind him.

The soft _click_ sounds like the end.

Of what, he’s not so sure.


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He never wanted to want someone, never wanted to miss someone, never wanted to spend nights lying in his shitty bed in the dark, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about someone, wondering how they were and what they thought about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was feeling really sad so obviously I updated so that all of you can feel my pain. You're welcome.
> 
> This chapter was supposed to be about Dean and Roman but then I watched the video for the actual timeline and saw lots of Dean and Seth interaction so why not.
> 
> Maybe Roman will make an appearance in the next chapter.

Dean returns to the company’s building three hours later, just missing the first hour of taping, but no one seems to care because he’s Dean Ambrose and he’ll do whatever the fuck he wants, thank you very much.

He cuts a damn good impromptu promo, too, coming on camera to say what he wants to say; what’s been eating at his skin, at his bones for the past few weeks. Sure, his job is at risk, and it’s about all he lives for these days, but he knows the fans will eat it up, and that’s what really matters to the higher-ups.

The ratings. The sales. The reactions.

Not the emotional or mental stability of their roster.

But by now, Dean’s long used to looking after himself.

He disguises his complaints by fashioning them around William Regal, falsely complaining that the guy won’t react to Dean’s attempts to call him out, but halfway through there’s a tap on his shoulder, and when he turns Seth is standing there, staring at him.

He looks like Dean had never even touched him, and Dean wonders briefly how much makeup they had to put on him to conceal the damage he’d done to their prized champion.

Seth starts verbally attacking him, as should be expected, but Dean’s brain forgets how to do anything but stand there and gape at him wordlessly like a dumbass fish.

“You wanted to beat me,” Seth says, “but something changed in you, and now you’re just crazy.”

Well, isn’t that the fucking truth.

And when Seth finishes his little speech, topping it off with an insult to his family jewels, Dean purses his lips and offers Seth his best glare.  He inspects the title belt that Seth has thrown over his shoulder, Seth’s fingers clasped so tightly around its edge that his knuckles are white, like someone’s going to steal it from him, and he’s not wrong, because Dean knows it’s in his immediate future.

Dean nods at the belt, nods at Seth, makes a little ‘ _mm-hmm’_ sound, like he’s stamping the image of Seth as champion into his brain because it’s the last time he’ll ever see Seth as champion, then walks away, because he’s decided he’s had enough of Seth for the time being, even though, for some goddamn reason, it hurts to walk away from Seth, hurts like Seth’s holding the end of a rope tied around Dean’s neck and the more distance between them, the harder it tugs, until Dean’s lifeless with the distance.

Dean feels Seth’s eyes burning a sharp hole in the back of his head as he walks away, but he misses Seth’s smirk that, for a brief second, changes into a fond smile, so brief that only the cameras catch it.

* * *

The general manager gives Seth a match against some guy Dean doesn’t recognize (really, has he been gone _that_ long? Are they replacing him already?), and since it’s a title match it’s plainly fucking obvious that Seth’s gonna win, because why would they give the title to some nobody (oh wait, they already have, in Seth; Dean thinks they need to stop being such hypocrites). And Seth wins, and the referee’s searching for the title belt to give to him, but it’s too late for the referee because Dean’s already got his hands on it, and he’s storming into the ring and approaching Seth.

He shoves the championship at Seth, almost pleased about it because he’s gotten his filthy hands on the belt and now it’s ruined, but Seth doesn’t seem fazed, just grabbing it out of Dean’s hands like he’s been starved for it for the duration of the twenty-minute match he’d been without it.

“Two weeks,” Dean says, trying to ignore how Seth’s flushed red with exertion, how his skin is shiny with sweat and he’s breathing so hard that he’s basically panting, and Dean might be a little turned on.

“You want some of this, huh?” Seth asks, raising the championship above his head, and it’s a double-barreled question, and as Dean stares at him, he notes that Seth’s pupils are dilated.

Seth steps closer, and so Dean steps closer, because no one, especially not Seth Rollins, is going to one-up him, but now there’s not much space between them, and Seth’s saying something and it’s not registering, and Dean wants to kiss him.

_Focus, Dean, focus._

And when he comes back to what the hell’s going on, where he is and what he’s doing, Seth’s gesturing to himself and to Dean and then to the championship, and then Dean remembers.

He has a chance to take the FCW Championship from prissy asshole Seth Rollins.

Oh, this is gonna be good.

Seth leans in, and Dean has to avert his gaze and stare at the base of Seth’s neck to avoid giving in and kissing him right here, right now, in the middle of the ring, with the audience and the cameras watching them.

But god, does he want.

He opts for an awkward pat of the title belt, which is once more draped over Seth’s shoulder, and then he walks away and gets his ass out of the ring, because he’s not sure he’ll be able to resist the urge that’s come over him much longer.

He loves wrestling, he really does, but he never wanted this.

He never wanted to love—no, not love, it’s not love, it’s _not_ —someone.

Want. That’s the word he’s looking for.

Not love. He knows he’s incapable of giving that, and unworthy of receiving it.

He never wanted to want someone, never wanted to miss someone, never wanted to spend nights lying in his shitty bed in the dark, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about someone, wondering how they were and what they thought about him.

He just came here to make a name for himself, but now in his hypothetical situation he’s got not one, but _two_ someones, and he doesn’t think he wants to give a shit about either one of them, because one’s a bitch and the other one can’t make up his damn mind, and he’s Dean Ambrose and he doesn’t need anyone.

Doesn’t want anyone.

Doesn’t love anyone.

He doesn’t.


	53. Chapter 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Weeeeeell,” he begins, unnecessarily dragging out every last syllable just to piss Roman off, “he ‘n our Sethie boy went ‘n kidnapped me so Sethie could ‘make things right with you’.”
> 
> “Really?” And now Roman looks just as worried as Dean knows he is, brows furrowed and forehead creased with concern, and somehow Roman’s hand has ended up on Dean’s hip.
> 
> Well, he’s not gonna complain.

The weight of his worry is choking the life out of Dean.

He can feel it from across the crowded locker room, bouncing from person to person to person until it lands on him and envelopes him, like he’s stuck in a bubble of worry.

Of course, maybe he deserves it. It’s been a while.

A month and a half, if the calculations he’d struggled through are correct.

Roman’s waiting for him at his locker, all six-foot-whatever and 250 pounds of him impeding Dean’s ability to open his locker and use it.

“Gonna move, big guy?” Dean asks him when he stops in front of Roman, staring him down as if his extra inch in height intimidates Roman, even though he’s pretty sure Roman could pick him up and toss him across the locker room if he so desired.

“You’re back,” Roman responds, eyes dark and searching as he studies Dean. “Where’ve you been?”

“Out. Around.” He purposely doesn’t look at Roman anymore. “Surprised ya even noticed. Thought you’d be too busy stickin’ your tongue down ol’ Sethie’s throat to notice I was gone.”

Roman flinches a little, and Dean grins, digging his teeth into his bottom lip.

“I haven’t been doing anything with him,” Roman says a little too quickly, his composure obviously affected. Dean grins wider, stepping forward to put himself in Roman’s personal space, his chest pressing against the other man’s.

“Right. So who was that with the bad dye job I saw you makin’ out with when I walked in? Not lil’ Sethie, huh?”

“That wasn’t—never mind.”

Dean curls his hand around Roman’s bicep, but Roman barely blinks.

“So,” the other man continues, “really, Dean, where were you?”

Dean digs his nails into the flesh of Roman’s arm, stares at his lips and wonders if they still taste the same. “Ya wouldn’t believe me if I told ya,” he finally drawls, words slurred on a lazy tongue.

“Try me,” Roman says, and Dean knows the other man’s trying too hard.

The guy just doesn’t know it yet.

“’Member Jimmy Jacobs?” Dean asks, and Roman twitches a little; Dean can feel the flex of his bicep under his hand. Glancing at his bicep, he smirks at the little red half-moon marks that are appearing from the bite of his fingernails.

The wilder part of him that he’s never learned to put down wants to sink his teeth into that flesh, taste it and tear it and make it his, but he doesn’t think he’ll be so lucky.

“Yeah.”

“ _Weeeeeell_ ,” he begins, unnecessarily dragging out every last syllable just to piss Roman off, “he ‘n our Sethie boy went ‘n kidnapped me so Sethie could ‘make things right with you’.”

“Really?” And now Roman looks just as worried as Dean knows he is, brows furrowed and forehead creased with concern, and somehow Roman’s hand has ended up on Dean’s hip.

Well, he’s not gonna complain.

“Mm-hmm,” Dean hums, sliding his hand down to Roman’s forearm, pretending not to notice that somehow, the side of his shirt has been rucked up and Roman’s thumb is stroking across his hipbone.

“Are you okay?” Sometimes Roman’s more like an overprotective mother than a potential lover.

…And Dean definitely did not just associate the word ‘lover’ with Roman.

Nope. Nuh uh.

“Yeah.” And it’s the truth, really; that he’s so sick in everything he likes, everything he is, that the best way to make him feel better when something’s wrong is to put him so far under that he knows nothing but the too-tight bite of a leather collar around his throat, the ache in the bones under the skin of his palms and knees from being on all fours on a hard floor, the tremble in his body from trying to be good, from accepting being used. “Can I get in my locker now?”

Roman steps to the side, but his hand doesn’t leave Dean’s hip—and Dean has to force himself not to make a wanting noise when he realizes Roman’s fingers have dipped below the top of his jeans, pressing like he wants to leave a mark.

Dean opens the door to his locker and snatches his abandoned duffel bag from the floor, hastily cramming it into his locker. Beside him, Dean hears what sounds like a muffled snicker.

“What?” he asks.

“Do you seriously have a bottle of maple syrup in your locker?”

“ _Duh.”_

“I ain’t judgin’, but… why?”

“’Cause I get hungry. ‘S not your business anyway.”

When Dean shuts his locker, Roman moves back in front of it, and their chests are touching once more and there’s a weird kind of tension between them.

‘Weird’ meaning Dean refuses to acknowledge it or its obvious meaning.

Because that’s how he deals with all his problems. And it seems to have worked for the past twenty-six and a half years, so why stop now?

“Listen… I got somethin’ I wanna talk to ya about. But not here, not in front of all of these nosy motherfuckers,” Dean says, spotting Mike Dalton looking too smug for his own good a couple feet away (Dean shoots him a glare and a raised pinky finger, because why not). “’S private. Know a place?”

“Could go back to my place,” Roman murmurs, and there’s an all-too-familiar glimmer in his eyes. Dean smiles, all sharp teeth and wicked ideas.

“Lead the way, big guy.”

* * *

Dean’s sitting on the couch pouting.

Maybe not pouting. Sulking might be a better choice of words.

Once he and Roman had gotten through the door of Roman’s (much nicer than his) apartment, Dean had all but thrown himself at Roman, only for Roman to (gently) peel Dean off of him and tell Dean he wouldn’t do anything like that with him until Dean had made his choice.

Of course, he hadn’t let Dean go without kissing him a few times, enough to leave Dean dazed and breathless and wanting more, because apparently Roman wanted to be a dick and leave him with blue balls.

But Dean’s decided; he knows what he wants.

He shifts on the couch, runs a hand through his already messy hair, and yells Roman’s name, knowing the other man’s still somewhere in the apartment.

Roman appears after a few seconds— _whoa, where the fuck did his shirt go, and what happened to his stupid manbun_ _(that’s what they call it, right)_ —smiling at Dean and making Dean feel some kind of warmth in his chest that he hates. “Yeah?”

“I think, uh, I think, um…”

Goddamnit. Dean’s always been excellent at talking, so what the hell’s going on now?

“What do you think, Dean?” Now Roman’s probably mocking him. Great.

“I think we should, er… makethisathing.”


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But his past is still with him, an irrevocable scarlet letter, tainting him and whatever value he had to begin with.
> 
> And he’ll always end up back here; alone, in a deserted alley, with no place to go, no one to call home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *antiquated meme voice* SURPRISE BITCH

“Dean, it’s too late.”

He feels nothing at first, because the words take a while to sink in, swirling around in some empty void in his head before his brain finally starts to process what Roman’s said, and when his brain decides the words have been fully, completely processed, with no other meaning to be found, he starts to feel the first white-hot licks of anger coursing through him, warming him.

“The fuck you mean ‘it’s too late’? If you’re fuckin’ with me, big guy, I swear…”

“I’m not, Dean,” Roman says, and his voice is strangely quiet and Dean knows, like a rock in his stomach, that Roman’s not fucking with him.

Not fucking him, either, which is equally disappointing.

“Then… then… tell me what the fuck you’re talkin’ about, so if it ain’t good, I can get outta here before I end up breakin’ one of your nice-ass things. ‘Cause even insurance ain’t gonna help ya out once I get ahold of shit.”

Roman sighs and crosses the room to sit down on the couch next to Dean, who immediately tenses, poised to jump off the couch at any second, ‘cause he knows something’s not right and he knows what usually happens to him in wrong situations.

“I thought you were never going to make up your mind,” Roman says, and Dean fights to tell him that it’s true, he didn’t, because he’d come in here with such a great plan, a plan to get everything he wanted and more, and now he’s sure won’t be able to get shit and he’s fucking pissed.

“I thought you were never going to make up your mind,” Roman repeats, “and you honestly seemed… happy, with Seth, I guess. I’ve just never been able to reconcile with him, and I’ve tried, but… it still hurts, you know. I haven’t been able to rebuild any trust with him. I still feel like, if I ever got back together with him… he’d just go and cheat on me again. I just haven’t been able to trust him again, and I don’t know if I ever will, especially not since Jimmy’s back. And I didn’t think I was ever gonna get you, Dean, ‘cause you seemed like you were always gonna pick Seth over me, if you ever made up your mind. So… I found someone.”

Roman’s words are the equivalent of a spear in the ring gone wrong, and Dean feels like he’s been knocked on his back with all the wind knocked out of him and all the fight in his bones gone, left unsure, confused, still angry, but maybe hurt, too.   

“You… found someone?” Dean doesn’t recognize his own voice.

“Yeah, and it’s serious.”

“Who is it?”

The smile Roman gives him is sad, pitying, and Dean tastes a little bile in his throat.

The last thing he wants from Roman is his goddamn pity.

“I’m not gonna tell you his name, because I know you’ll just go out and find him and probably beat the shit out of him. But he works with us at FCW. That’s all I’ll tell you.”

Dean processes this for a moment, his mind cycling through the nameless faces he’s seen there, trying to identify which one he’s seen with Roman, because he knows he’s seen one.

It clicks, and Dean feels like he’s going to vomit.

“ _Are you fucking kidding me?!”_

It’s the last thing he offers Roman before he bolts.

* * *

Dean has always had trouble with anger management. When he was a kid, while still in school, he’d get sent to the principal’s office on a near-daily basis for getting in fights, physical or verbal (usually both simultaneously, because he never missed an opportunity for some good trash talk).

But he’s always had one rule about directing his anger: never hit anyone unless they deserve it. He’s tried very hard to follow that rule, but back when he was trapped in a haze of drugs and sex and what he thought was love, he’d forgotten it, and he’s been trying to get it back ever since.

What he directs his anger to, instead, is the wall of a conveniently-located alley he stumbles across. It’s weird in a nicer area of town like Roman’s, but it seems to be the spot that sticks out unfavorably, dingy and disgusting, permeated with the scent of something rotten.

But for Dean’s needs at that very moment, it’s perfect.

He screams and shouts at the wall, listening to his voice echo down the length of the alley. He digs his fingers into the rough, grimy edges of the bricks that make up the wall until the tips of his fingernails break and bleed, seeking some sensation to ground him, to give him relief from the anger and pain welling up inside his chest.

And then, to his surprise, the scale tips, but not in his favor, and he breaks and slumps to the ground, and he’s shaking, and his face is wet with tears.

It’s uncharacteristic of him, but when he’s angry enough and that anger dies out, all he’s left with is sadness, and his sadness tends to express itself in unusual ways. Today, it just happens to be in tears.

It reminds him of days and nights he thought he had abandoned long ago, days and nights of time spent in alleyways, begging and pleading just to get by; until he thought he had been rescued.

But his past is still with him, an irrevocable scarlet letter, tainting him and whatever value he had to begin with.

And he’ll always end up back here; alone, in a deserted alley, with no place to go, no one to call home.


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He swears he hates Seth.  
> It’s not like he’s never known hate, but now he can’t decide if he hates himself or Seth more.  
> (He knows the answer, knows the truth, but it’s something he’ll never admit.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy one year to the fic that made me believe again. <3
> 
> Warning: This chapter contains mentions of sexual activities that may be considered nonconsensual due to the use of the word "abuse" to refer to them, as well as the physical results of said activities. However, please note that the activities mentioned were consensual and the word choice is merely a play on words regarding the situation. Regardless, if you feel uncomfortable reading this, the only really important part of this chapter is at the end, so I would recommend skipping to the end.

When all the pain seeps out of his body and he’s left exhausted on the concrete while his pain mixes with the other filth in the alleyway, Dean doesn’t know where to go. Roman’s out of the question and so is Seth, but Dean knows his own apartment will be just as empty and scraggly as ever, and Dean can’t bear to be alone right now. Not now, when his mind is liable to kill him. Not now, when his unfortunately-stubborn desire for illegal substances to numb his mind with is increasing by the minute.

Not now, not like this.

So he calls up the only one he knows who will soothe his pain and save the judgment for later.

* * *

It’s a very long two weeks. Or three weeks, if he’s being truthful, because there was some kind of error in scheduling and suddenly Dean’s match for the championship he deserves is pushed back a week, officially marking three weeks since he’ll have last come face-to-face with Seth Rollins.

He hangs around the locker room even when he’s not required to be in the building, knowing his job’s already at risk, that even with his talent if he pushes the boundaries just a little farther he’ll have to go back to the indies, back to Cincinnati and Jon Moxley and blood that looks like wine on his bedsheets.

And maybe it’s his home, but maybe he doesn’t want to go home.

In any case, he notices that no one seems to care. No one says anything about the welts on his back, the scratches and bruises littering his skin like they’re splashes of paint on a cheap canvas, the result of the best kind of abuse. No one says anything about the hollow look in his eyes, how distant he is, how quiet he is, how he’s there but not quite there, here but not quite here.

But maybe no one seems to care because anyone who he thinks might care is nowhere to be seen. He hasn’t seen Roman, hasn’t seen Seth, which is particularly odd in Seth’s case because he’s the champion. But maybe the general manager gave her most prized possession time off, time to prepare for their match, time that Seth will definitely need because Dean needs to prove something to himself.

He needs to prove that he’s worthy.

* * *

Waiting behind the curtain for his entrance music to hit, Dean feels high, high off the adrenaline and maybe something else, too.

Seth has yet to show up in Dean’s line of vision yet, but that’s okay, because Dean knows he’ll show. He wouldn’t dare miss out on a chance to defend his championship, a chance for _him_ to prove himself to the world.

Dean doesn’t get much time to think about Seth’s absence anyway, because he hears the cue of his entrance music, and it’s time.

He shoves the curtain out of his way and strolls into the room as if he owns it, pausing for a moment just underneath the arched framework of the lights, clenching his hand into a fist and curling his lip in a sneer as he heads for the ring. Narrowing his eyes, he nods at the camera, as if to confirm what he knows will happen when he encounters Seth—he’ll beat Seth, one two three, and become the FCW Heavyweight Champion, as he so rightly deserves.

Inside the ring, he stares at the entryway as he waits for Seth to show himself, and when he does, Dean has to fight the laugh that wants to bubble up in his chest, because Seth looks so fuckin’ ridiculous, jumping around and swinging the championship belt in a circle over his head like he’s a fuckin’ child throwing a tantrum.

It amuses him, but the laughter that wants to spill from him dies out when Seth climbs up onto the apron and locks eyes with him, just for a moment before Seth turns away and climbs onto a turnbuckle to show off to the audience and to the camera, and in that brief moment when their eyes connected, Dean felt like Seth was staring into his soul.

The tattered, fragmented remnants of his soul, but his soul nonetheless.

Dean keeps a glare firmly affixed to his face as Seth shows off, because in this moment, they’re supposed to be rivals, rivals who hate each other, rivals who have never known intimacy in the darkness of a closet or the cramped dimensions of a bathroom stall. In this moment, they’re not supposed to be _what could’ve been, should’ve been._

In this moment, none of the background noise matters.

Dean glances at the referee, only to glance back at his opponent when he finds that Seth is just standing on the middle turnbuckle, title clasped loosely in one hand, staring at him. His eyes are cold, but there’s a question in them, too, one that Dean doesn’t get to find out before Seth jumps off the turnbuckle and into the ring, and the question in his eyes is gone when Dean looks again.

There’s a thick tension between them as Seth walks to the other side of the ring, and Dean studies him with a frown, a stare that Seth meets unwaveringly, and Dean’s so wrapped up in it that he doesn’t react to the announcer introducing the match, introducing him, and there’s nothing but him and Seth standing on opposite sides of a battlefield.

He comes back to himself when the announcer introduces Seth, and Seth breaks their silent competition by lifting his title in the air and gazing at the audience with a smirk on his face, a smirk that Dean can’t decide if he wants to punch off or kiss off his face.

After all, Dean’s never been very good at keeping his hands off what’s not his.

Seth looks to him again, and Dean runs a hand through his hair and proceeds to take off his jacket, pointedly not watching Seth take off his stupid emo kid band T-shirt. He tosses his jacket over the top rope and turns back to Seth to watch the flickering beginning of a heat in his eyes.

The bell rings, and Seth approaches. He stops in the middle of the ring, though, and Dean chooses to walk a slow circle around him, keeping near the edges of the ring, pretending to formulate a plan in his head when it should be obvious to everyone, especially Seth, that plans aren’t his thing and he’s really just checking Seth out.

And they finally clash, and even though it’s his job and a war all in one, Seth’s hands are all over his body and it feels like they belong.

They grapple for a minute before Dean shoves Seth into the middle of the ring and apparently Seth decides to give him some space, letting Dean go around the ring in another slow circle before they clash once more.

Dean drives Seth down onto the canvas in a headlock, and he relishes in the moment of control before Seth manages to break the hold and get back up on his feet.

But Dean’s still got a grip on his hand, and he won’t let go, trying to twist Seth’s arm behind his back, and Seth does all his fancy rolling flippy shit trying to break free, but Dean still won’t let go.

(Although he does take advantage of Seth’s attempts to break the hold by grabbing Seth’s ass with his free hand and pretending it’s for leverage.)

Seth responds in kind by trying to wrap his legs around Dean’s head when Dean knocks Seth flat on his back on the canvas, but Dean shoves Seth onto his stomach and locks him in another submission maneuver for only a few seconds before trying to pin him, but he doesn’t even get a one-count.

Dean doesn’t really mind, though; he’s not going to win without a good fight, he’s not going to win without earning it.

They grapple for another minute or two, each trying to put the other into a good submission hold, and Dean manages to pull Seth’s arm the wrong way, and Seth cries out in pain and gets his foot on the rope, and when Dean lets go Seth clutches at his injured arm and Dean has to bite back a grin.

Dean lets Seth have a minute to recover (because he’s not a _complete_ dick anymore) before he goes after him again, and he tries to pin Seth several times by knocking him flat on his back and grabbing his hands and using force to keep Seth’s shoulders down, and even though he doesn’t succeed in getting a three-count, he enjoys getting to see the arch of Seth’s back, mimicking a night Dean remembers as a surprise visit from Seth. 

When Seth forces his way out of Dean’s lazy attempts, he climbs to his feet, and when Dean meets him Seth slaps him across the chest.

Dean smiles a little and returns the slap, this one even harder.

Seth slaps back just as hard, and they exchange a series of brief chops before Dean grows tired of it and punches Seth in the face.

When Seth tries to reciprocate, Dean backs him into the corner and slaps him across the chest again, hard enough to make Seth double over at the waist with the impact. It only takes him a few seconds to recover, though, and in half a minute he’s got Dean in the corner and he’s slapping Dean across the chest multiple times, each one harder than the last, and then Seth knocks him on his ass and kicks him in the back.

It hurts like a bitch, and when Seth goes for the pin he barely kicks out in time.

He manages to drag himself to his feet, kicking Seth’s legs out from under him so he lands on his back on the canvas, and then he relishes in the loud groan of pain Seth makes when Dean steps on his abdomen and puts all his weight into the action.

That pisses Seth off, apparently, because he wiggles his way out from under Dean and then starts laying it on him like he won’t have time to do it any other day, and Dean and Seth end up on the top turnbuckle and Seth throws them both onto the canvas and Dean lands on his previously-injured shoulder and he _swears_ his goddamn arm comes off his body. All he can feel is pain, pain, pain, racing up and down his arm and biting along his spine and his tired lungs and muscles and bones, and his body wants to stop the match but his brain will never give up.

He rolls out of the ring and gets on his knees on the mat on the floor and silently wills his shoulder to not fuck this up for him. The movement only makes his shoulder hurt worse, and he drags himself to his feet using the steel steps at the edge of the ring and bangs on them with his good arm, as if the reverberation in his bones will stitch his wounds back together. A medic from the back comes to check on him, but he shoves the medic away, silently vowing that he _will_ go on, that he _will_ finish this match, that he _will_ become champion. He hasn’t worked this hard, hasn’t crawled up this neverending ladder only to let it shatter under his feet.

He tries to move his shoulder, experimentally, and when pain flares up once more, it occurs to him that his shoulder’s been knocked out of its socket. But this isn’t the first time it’s happened to him, so he relies on an old trick he learned back in Cincinnati, when he could barely afford to live, much less afford fuckin’ medical treatment to solve his body’s tendencies not to cooperate when he needed it to listen to him most.

He rams his shoulder into the side of the ring, once, twice, three times, trying to get his shoulder back to where it’s supposed to be, but it doesn’t work, and he stumbles away from the side of the ring and into the open section of the building, where there’s nothing but hard concrete on the floor.

He gets approximately 0.2 seconds warning before Seth is flying through the ropes and knocking him onto the floor, and he lands on the injured shoulder and hears the _pop_ of it settling back into place. It still aches, and he probably won’t be able to use it, but it no longer feels like Dean wants to cut his own arm off to escape the pain.

Seth curls his fingers into the waistband of Dean’s trunks and grabs him by the nape of his neck and forces him back into the ring, and Dean barely has time to get up before Seth hits him with a crossbody splash that drops him on his head on the canvas. Seth takes advantage and tries to pin him, and even though Dean’s exhausted he throws as much of himself as he can into the kick-out, throwing Seth off of him.

When Seth climbs to his feet, Dean follows and succeeds in kicking his legs out from under him, and then he puts Seth in a figure-four leg lock and Seth fucking screams.

It’s hurting Dean, too, the way he has to use his bad shoulder to keep Seth from getting away, but he just grits his teeth and deals with the pain, unlike Seth, who’s being very vocal about his pain and slapping half-heartedly at Dean in shitty attempts to break the hold.  

Dean arches himself up into a one-armed bridge, and Seth screams again, and Dean can feel Seth punching at his thigh as if it’ll make him let go, but Dean refuses to let go, tightening his grip around Seth’s leg and pulling even harder.

Somehow, Seth drags himself to the ropes, forcing Dean to let go, although Dean only lets go at the last possible second, because he wants Seth to hurt as much as he does.

He drags himself to his feet and gives Seth a moment to recover, taunting him all the while, before he runs to the ropes for momentum and drives his knee straight into the side of Seth’s head. The impact drives Seth back onto the canvas, and Dean pins him, and he swears he gets a three-count before Seth kicks out, but no, it’s two and a half. Dean groans and rolls to the side, feeling Seth’s hand on his arm, as if Seth doesn’t want him to go anywhere.

But it’s a little too late for that.

His shoulder flares up in agony once again, and he realizes, with a pained groan, that his shoulder has decided to come loose again, making his arm virtually useless from the damage, and he hits at his shoulder with his opposite fist, hoping it’ll do something to silence the pain and the damage, at least temporarily, so he can win this match and prove what he’s always known.

It doesn’t seem to work, so he rolls onto his stomach, lifts himself up with his free hand, and slams his shoulder down into the canvas a couple times until it hurts less and he can breathe again.

When he gets to his feet, Seth kicks him in the face, and the world blurs for a few seconds as Dean crashes face-down onto the canvas.

He’s never been one to give up, but his body feels like it wants to give up without consulting his brain first. He can barely move, left with only one good arm to defeat his enemy with. But Seth doesn’t seem too well off either, having to use the ropes to climb to his feet, then swaying on his feet like he’s drunk.

It’s a thought that leaves Dean’s mind entirely when Seth stomps on his fucking head when he’s trying to stand up, sending him crashing back down onto the canvas and ending up flat on his back, the blood pounding in his ears and his ears ringing and the world a little dark and fuzzy around the edges.

He’s got enough consciousness left to kick out when he feels the warmth of a body atop his own, when he feels arms hooked around one of his legs, when he hears the shout of ‘one, two,’ although he feels like he’s underwater for how distant it sounds. He feels disconnected from his body, floating around in some corner of his head with a body that will barely respond to his commands anymore.

But it’s not over yet.

He kicks out and rolls away from Seth, groaning in pain all the while, holding onto his injured shoulder as if his touch will fix it, when for all he knows he may have damaged it enough to prevent him from ever wrestling again.

And then Seth steals the fucking submission hold that Dean had stolen, stretching his injured shoulder in ways that shouldn’t be possible, and Dean is fighting with every breath in his lungs and every beat in his heart and every muscle in his body to get Seth off of him.

“Tap already,” Seth hisses in his ear.

“Never,” Dean answers, in a voice that he doesn’t even recognize, a voice that sounds wrecked and beaten and broken, raw and hoarse.

Seth lets go of him for a brief moment, only to grab him by the hair and pull, but then the fingers in his hair disappear and Seth’s trying to lock him in the stolen submission hold once more, and Dean does the only thing that he can think of.

He bites Seth’s hand, as hard as he possibly can.

It buys him enough time to roll away from Seth and to grab the bottom rope like it’s his lifeline, but then Seth’s grabbing at his feet, and Dean desperately kicks him in the head to push him away.

He’s running out of time, and he doesn’t know what to do.

As he pulls himself to his feet, he feels Seth’s fingers curling into the fabric of his trunks, pulling Dean towards him, and Dean elbows Seth in the head to separate them. He’s still holding onto the ropes with his good hand, so Seth takes advantage and starts punching at his injured shoulder, causing Dean to cry out at the pain that courses through his body with every blow.

Seth pulls Dean off the ropes by yanking at his bad shoulder, forcing Dean to come to him to dull the flare of pain, but it’s only momentary before Seth’s got Dean bent over with his bad arm behind his back and Seth’s kicking at his bad shoulder and Dean thinks he hates him.

Seth drops him right on his injured shoulder, and when Dean tries to stand he feels Seth slam him down into the canvas again, and his world swims and when he comes to they’re announcing Seth as the winner of the match and still the champion.

He swears he hates Seth.

He rolls towards the edge of the ring, still clutching at his shoulder, and anger is welling up inside of him and he feels the sting of tears in his eyes.

It’s not like he’s never known hate, but now he can’t decide if he hates himself or Seth more.

(He knows the answer, knows the truth, but it’s something he’ll never admit.)

* * *

It takes three medics to fix his shoulder. He gets three weeks off and a promise that he’ll have a big match when he returns.

It’s July 15th when he returns to the familiar building, his shoulder now at least 80% better, and he even takes the medical tape off for the occasion.

Upon his arrival, he’s informed that he’ll have a match against William Regal. And isn’t that perfect? He’ll finally get a chance for revenge after the bastard fucked his shoulder up about a year ago, the remaining damage the cause for why Dean isn’t the champion right now, when he’d earned it, he’d fucking earned it.

He encounters Seth in a dimly lit hallway when Dean’s in the middle of getting ready for his match. Seth is quiet, and his title is nowhere to be seen, and somehow he looks vulnerable, needy.

Like he’s come home to Dean.

The thought nearly makes Dean sick with something he can’t identify.

“What do _you_ want?” he asks Seth, not bothering to pause his pre-match preparation, rolling his neck and sending jabs at an imaginary opponent.

But Seth doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word, so after a few minutes of mutual silence, Dean pauses.

And because he’s Dean Ambrose, he allows himself a moment to take advantage of the vulnerability he sees in Seth’s eyes, and he walks up to Seth and cups his cheek in one hand.

Seth sighs a little and closes his eyes, and that weird pang of something that feels like sickness is back in Dean’s chest, and he forces himself to pull away.

“I have a match, Seth,” he says, voice low, and turns away, jabbing at the wall once more.

When he looks back a minute later, Seth is gone.

* * *

Dean comes out of his match thoroughly satisfied. Regal had tried to dislocate his shoulder again, but Dean wasn’t having that, and in retaliation Dean had nearly ripped Regal’s ear off. Sure, the match had been stopped early, but Dean has more important things to worry about now, bigger problems than one William Regal, and he’s satisfied with having the man’s blood on his hands.

And to top it off, he got to taint Roman’s pretty blonde thing, who fought with all the viciousness of a kitten.

He doesn’t even mind that the whole locker room was required to come out and keep him from doing any more damage to Regal, doesn’t even mind that Seth had pressed him into the corner and said “It’s over, Ambrose,” doesn’t even mind all the fuckin’ chaos, because he got his revenge.

And after the match, he gets the hell out before he can get into any trouble.

They can’t punish him if they can’t find him.

* * *

One week later, he returns, thinking that all the chaos and drama over the incident should’ve died down by now; it’s just wrestling, anyway. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, that kind of shit. Regal dislocated his shoulder, so he ripped off his ear. Dean thinks it’s a fair trade.

But almost immediately after he arrives, he gets called into the general manager’s office, and he mentally prepares himself for the worst, because he’s come to learn that unfortunately not everyone has the same mindset as Dean Ambrose.

He settles down in the uncomfortable chair across from the general manager’s desk and taps his fingers idly on his thigh as he waits to hear what he did wrong and what his punishment will be.

“Do you know why I called you in here today, Dean?”

“No,” he says, and it’s not entirely a lie.

The general manager purses her lips. “You’ve been called up.”


	56. Chapter 56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “’N that’s what sex toys were made for, princess. When ya ain’t gettin’ any.”
> 
> “’S not enough,” Seth complains. “I need an actual dick in my ass. Immediately.”

The general manager doesn’t give him much more to work with, other than ‘you’ll be receiving a call from Triple H’ or something along those lines, but he unintentionally tunes most of what she says out.

He’s too fucking excited to be paying any attention. This is what he’s worked so long for. This is what he moved across the country for. A shot at the big leagues, a chance to be something.

Something more.

* * *

Triple H had called him at a godawful hour (also known as eleven AM) and had sounded way too cheerful for his own good. It kinda spoils Dean’s impression of him as “The King of Kings” too. What the fuck ever happened to big, scary, beat-the-shit-out-of-everyone Triple H? Now he just wears a suit and helps struggling wrestlers to get from point A to point B.

Dean hopes that when he gets that old, he’ll still be kicking ass like he is now, ‘cause he’s been doing that since he was born and he's got no intention of stopping anytime soon.

“We decided to call you up, Dean, because we’re rebranding FCW. We want to use the best FCW talent to help in the rebranding—and to give them a chance in the WWE.”

Dean’s mildly curious. “Who else’s gettin’ called up?”

Triple H laughs as if Dean’s said something funny. “Probably several guys you’ve worked with before. Should be a little easier when you start working with them in the main company.”

That doesn’t really answer his question, but Dean’s got other methods of getting information. “So what’s bein’ done with me?”

“To be honest with you, we were particularly interested in your in-ring chemistry with some of the other FCW talent, namely, Seth Rollins and Leakee. It seemed you were at your best with them, do you agree?”

Dean almost wants to laugh. _Sorry, boss, I was at my best with ‘em and then I went ‘n fucked it all up. Can’t keep a good thing even if I fuckin’ tried._

“Yeah, I guess so,” he says instead.

“We want you working at your best, just as we do the rest of the talent, and we’ve decided it would be best for you and Seth and Leakee to debut in the WWE in a few months as a stable.”

Dean hears all the air rush out of his lungs in one go and he feels a little dizzy.

A stable.

That would mean they’d have to be around each other all the fuckin’ time.

If he hadn’t fucked up whatever they’d had, if he hadn’t been so greedy, if he hadn’t been Dean Ambrose, this would’ve worked just fine.

But he doesn’t know if he can stand to be around the two men he wants so badly that he feels a physical ache for them anymore.

He’s always been a good liar where it counts, though.

“Sounds like it would work,” he says. In a perfect world, it would. “How long ‘til we’d debut?”

“We think you guys would debut together around Survivor Series.”

Dean lets Triple H discuss a few more things he doesn’t really care about, half-tuning him out, before he says goodbye and promises to call him again later to talk more about the rebranding.

Four months.

He has four months to make things right.

* * *

It takes him two weeks to come up with a plan, and another two weeks to execute it. He doesn’t think it’ll work—it involves, quite literally, forcing all three of them to be in the same room at the same time, with no way out, so they can fucking talk, hopefully without getting violent. In Dean’s fantasies, they’ll make up and then fuck. He knows it won’t happen, but he’s keeping lube and condoms in his bag just in case.

FCW has, as part of its rebranding, began to do live events, mostly around the state of Florida for now, and tonight they’re in Tallahassee, and Seth and Roman are both on the card as well and Dean’s got a hotel room all to himself.

His plan is flawed and hindered by the fact that he doesn’t know Seth or Roman’s numbers—he’s forced to leave little slips of paper in their bags with a request and the number of his room and a sloppy half-signature.

He really doesn’t think it will work, but after the live event that night, Dean’s back in the hotel and is just stepping out of the shower when he hears a light knock on the door of his room. He dries his hair off and wraps a towel around his waist, loose enough that it’s hanging from his hips and hinting at what’s underneath, and then he goes to open the door and Seth Rollins is standing there.

Seth blatantly leers at him, and Dean feels an interested stirring between his legs that he forces himself to ignore. “C’mon in, princess,” he says with a lazy grin, stepping to the side to let Seth in. Seth walks in and makes himself at home on Dean’s bed, and for once Dean is the one rolling his eyes at Seth as he stretches himself out like a cat. Dean shuts the door and heads over to the bed, settling down on the edge of it.

Seth, flat on his back in the middle of the bed, turns his head to leer at Dean some more. “You should take that off,” he suggests, reaching out and tugging lightly at the edge of Dean’s towel. Dean’s cock twitches with the prospect, but it’s not what he’s invited Seth here for.

As much as he wants to.

“Needy much?” Dean asks him, and Seth groans, rolling onto his stomach and splaying one leg out over Dean’s lap.

“I haven’t been fucked in _forever,”_ he complains, and Dean is really starting to regret inviting him here, especially if Roman shows up anytime soon. “Roman won’t touch me and you won’t touch me and if I was desperate I’d find Jimmy but he’s disappeared.”

“’N that’s what sex toys were made for, princess. When ya ain’t gettin’ any.”

“’S not enough,” Seth complains. “I need an actual dick in my ass. Immediately.”

“Been drinkin’, Sethie?” Dean asks, pretending to ignore the rush of heat he feels when he realizes Seth is—consciously or subconsciously he doesn’t know—grinding his hips against the bed.

“Mmm, yeah.” He whines low in his throat, and Dean is now painfully aware of how hard he is, and how much he hates Seth Rollins. “Just a lil’ bit. Jus’ enough to get an edge… mmm…”

Dean’s seriously considering giving in and fucking Seth until he screams, what with the way he’s wiggling his ass and grinding down on the bed and moaning like he’s in heat, but then there’s another knock on the door, and Dean hopes it’s Roman.

Dean pushes Seth’s leg off his lap and gets up to answer the door, and just when he opens the door to reveal Roman’s typically stoic figure, Seth decides to pipe up again.

“We can have a threesome!” he shouts for no explicable reason, and Dean thinks he might as well just melt through the fucking floor.

Goddamn Seth Rollins.

Dean still maybe hates him.


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, I didn’t do anythin’ to him,” Dean insists. “He told me he’d been drinkin’. I dunno what he was drinkin’, but he either had too much of it or he’s a fuckin’ lightweight.”
> 
> “’M not a lightweight,” Seth says, peering at Dean from his position on the bed. “I only had a couple. Of… something.” He frowns, like he’s struggling to remember what he’d drank. “Uh… it was… fuck. I dunno. Was good, though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains dubious consent in that an intoxicated person is begging to be fucked. If you feel uncomfortable reading this, please skip this chapter.
> 
> Also, starting Friday, February 24, I will (attempt to) update every Friday/every weekend.

Dean doesn’t expect a corner of Roman’s lips to twitch up into some sort of half-smile.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asks, and there’s a warmth in his tone that for a brief moment makes Dean forget there was ever anything broken between them.

“You’re interrupting drunk-off-his-ass Seth complaining about not getting fucked. But let it be said I was not about to fuck him. At all. I just got out of the shower. And that’s not why he’s here. And that’s not why _you’re_ here, ‘cause you’ve already got a…”

He knows he’s rambling, but he doesn’t bother to shut up until Roman cuts him off. “Dean.”

“Huh?”

“You’re both two grown-ass men; don’t let me interfere in whatever this is. Besides, I _know_ Seth,” he says, waving a hand at Dean, and then at Seth. “But why _am_ I here?”

Dean sighs, long and loud, as if the sigh will wordlessly communicate the giant fucking elephant in the room.

“Can I put some clothes on first before we start gettin’ all serious?”

Behind him, Seth makes a noise of dissent.

“Yeah, you should probably put some clothes on,” Roman says, voice a little rough.

“Then come on in. Can’t be lettin’ everyone else see this,” Dean says, stepping aside to let Roman in. He closes the door behind Roman and then heads over to his duffel bag that he’d dumped on the floor, digging a change of clothes out of it and heading into the bathroom to change.

While he’s changing, he hears Roman and Seth talking in low voices, too low for him to make out anything, even through the paper-thin typical hotel room walls.

He hopes they don’t end up killing each other while he’s gone, considering all the shit they’ve been through lately, but at the same time, knowing them, they could be conspiring against him like the assholes they are.

Dean exits the bathroom a little quicker than he should after he gets changed, but he wants to make sure they’re not up to anything, because _he’s_ the one who invited them here and _he_ gets to call the shots.

Something like that.

What he doesn’t expect to find is Seth sprawled out on his back across the bed, his shirt rucked up to his midriff and exposing the toned planes of his stomach and abs (that Dean totally doesn’t want to taste, nope, not ever), and Roman standing at the foot of the bed, eyeing Seth like something he either wants to eat or fuck.

Dean will assume it’s the latter.

But as soon as Dean makes himself known, Roman seems to snap out of whatever trance he’d been in, expression shifting to something like amusement, that half-smile reappearing on his face.

“Dude, what’d you do to him?” Roman asks, and Dean blinks, thinking he might have gotten whiplash from the way the topic and tension in the room changed entirely in only 0.3 seconds. “He’s actin’ like a puppy, man. Look at him.”

Seth looks entirely too innocent, considering the fact that before Roman had arrived, he’d been begging for a dick in his ass and trying to seduce Dean into giving him what he wanted, because Seth Rollins is apparently the biggest whore known to mankind.

Dean swallows at the memory and the image that pops into his head, then immediately tries to put it back where it came from, ‘cause it’s the last thing he needs right now when he’s trying to have a serious talk with the two of them, dammit.

“Hey, I didn’t do anythin’ to him,” Dean insists. “He told me he’d been drinkin’. I dunno what he was drinkin’, but he either had too much of it or he’s a fuckin’ lightweight.”

“’M not a lightweight,” Seth says, peering at Dean from his position on the bed. “I only had a couple. Of… something.” He frowns, like he’s struggling to remember what he’d drank. “Uh… it was… fuck. I dunno. Was good, though.”

“You probably had more than a couple,” Roman says. Dean, out of curiosity more than anything else (or so he claims), steps over to the side of the bed, reaches out, and lays his hand against Seth’s cheek. Seth makes a noise akin to a purr and nuzzles into the touch, sighing softly.

“I’m a grown-ass man and I’ll drink however much I want, fuck off,” Seth says, although the sentence doesn’t give off as much of an angry bite as Dean assumes Seth wants it to, considering that he’s still nuzzling into Dean’s touch like a puppy. Or a kitten. Or some other soft, fluffy baby animal.

Which is kind of what Seth reminds him of right now, until he starts talking again.

“Y’know, I meant what I said earlier, Dean,” Seth adds, almost a low rumble in his throat. Dean pretends he doesn’t hear, but Roman, the disgustingly perfect asshole that he is, pushes the issue.

“Yeah, you wanna catch me up on that? Think I missed it,” Roman says, sounding almost smug, and Dean might still hate him, too.

Seth whines and abruptly rolls back onto his stomach, and Dean pulls his hand back ‘cause he doesn’t really know what else to do with it. He nearly gapes at Seth, though, when he discovers that the purpose of Seth rolling back onto his stomach was to stick his ass up in the air like he’s presenting himself.

“Seth, what the fuck?” Dean asks, at exactly the same moment that Seth says “I still need to get fucked,” and Dean desperately hopes Roman didn’t hear.

But even if Roman didn’t hear the first sentence, Dean knows Roman will hear the rest of Seth’s begging, because he continues on. “I need a dick in my ass immediately and I know someone in here will give it to me.”

“Seth, I didn’t fuckin’ invite you in here to fuck you.”

“Then maybe Ro will. I know he misses this,” Seth says, wiggling his ass in the air as if it’s an invitation, and Dean chokes on his own air and silently wills Seth to shut up.

But a glance at Roman tells Dean that, while unusually silent, if Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say Roman actually looks… interested.

“I’m waiting,” Seth says impatiently.

“Seth, you’re drunk as hell. You’re not s'posed to fuck someone when they’re drunk,” Dean says, a last-ditch effort to keep himself from giving in, and fuck knows what’s going on in Roman’s head right now.

“I don’t care,” Seth says, laying his head on his folded arms and looking at Dean with the most earnestly pleading look he’s ever seen on Seth’s face. It almost makes him look naked already.

“I know you’ll both take good care of me.”


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn’t know how to describe it, doesn’t know how to tell them that he wants them, he wants them more than anything else in the entire fucking world and that fucking scares him, because he’s got so many fucking demons from his past coming after him that he can’t bear to put them in harm’s way, too; he just doesn’t know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey it's been a while.  
> In case anyone was wondering why I stopped updating for a while, here's what's happened while I've been away:  
> -I graduated from high school (yay)  
> -I became the legal age to read my fics (which makes me feel old bc I started writing this when I was 16, guys... I'M SO OLD D: )  
> -I enrolled in college (and then had to drop out >_>)
> 
> My life and future are unstable and uncertain so I cannot promise any regular updates. Basically if I could make money off this fic then I'd be fine, lol.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

Dean’s about to give in.

He’s so fucking close to giving in, the sight of Seth presenting his ass like a present just for them, the sound of Seth’s little keening noises in the back of his throat a form of wordless encouragement, the sight of Roman looking at Seth in a way that’s all too familiar, all making something burn hot in Dean’s gut.

But there’s a thin line between what he needs and what he doesn’t need, what he wants, what he doesn’t deserve, and he’s toeing that line too much for his own good, and he knows it all has to stop.

“Stop, Seth, stop, I can’t – I can’t fucking do this,” he says, and something in his voice breaks, _fuck,_ the wall he’s put up to try and protect himself from the two people he never really wanted to want is crumbling down, and he’s scrambling to pick up the rubble but it turns to dust between his fingertips.

He inhales sharply, trying to get ahold of himself – he can’t break down, not like this, not in front of them – and the tension in the room changes, but he can’t breathe any easier.

 “Look,” Dean says, feeling vaguely like he’s choking on a cinderblock lodged in his throat, “I got a call from Triple H today.”

“What’d he say?”

That’s Roman, voice all gravel-rough and focused, usually a source of calm for Dean, but this time only adding to his discomfort. It’s not Roman’s fault, though – it’s Dean’s, knowing that everything is going to slip out of his hands, everything’s going to wash away, and he’ll have nothing left but himself and maybe the broken pieces of his long-desired stability.

“He said I’d been called up.”

“’S good… isn’t it?”

And that’s Seth, staring at Dean with eyes still only half-focused, still blurry with intoxication, and Dean silently wishes he’d never fucked up in the first place.

“I guess,” he responds, eyes flicking down to the worn surface of his shoes. He can’t bear to look at Seth any longer, can’t bear to look at Roman, can’t bear to acknowledge what he could’ve had, what he should’ve had, if he wasn’t who he is.

“Then what’s the matter?” Roman asks.

“They want to put me in a stable.”

“With who?”

“With you,” Dean says, tilting his head towards Roman, “and you,” tilting his head towards Seth.

There’s a long silence, way too long for Dean’s liking, and he swears he can feel his heart plummet, something cold and dark and heavy settling in his chest.

“M’ thinkin’ of turnin’ it down,” he admits.

There’s a _creak_ as the bed shifts, and Dean finally looks up from the floor to find Seth standing in front of him, staring at him with a fierce intensity in his eyes that makes Dean a little uncomfortable.

“Why would you do that?” Seth asks.

“’Cause I can’t… I can’t…” Dean eventually gives up searching for words and shrugs his shoulders helplessly. He doesn’t know how to describe it, doesn’t know how to tell them that he wants them, he wants them more than anything else in the entire fucking world and that fucking scares him, because he’s got so many fucking demons from his past coming after him that he can’t bear to put them in harm’s way, too; he just doesn’t know.

He nearly jumps when Seth reaches out and grabs his hands, lacing their fingers together and keeping their hands locked in a grip somehow both soft and firm. One part of Dean wants to pull away, but another part doesn’t, and the two go to war inside his head, leaving Dean rooted to the spot in the meantime.

“Hey,” Seth says. “Listen to me.”

Dean’s got no other choice.

“Yeah, things are… messed up right now, but ‘s not like they can’t be fixed, right?”

“Dunno,” Dean mumbles.

“Well, I think they can. If you’re gettin’ called up and they wanna put you in a stable with me ‘n Ro, then that means we’re gettin’ called up, too, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean admits.

“Then we’re gonna have to figure out a way to get along if we want to advance,” Seth concludes.

“I jus’ don’t feel like things can be fixed. I fucked up. I fucked up really bad,” Dean says, pretending not to notice the physical evidence of his pain welling up in his eyes.

He hears footsteps behind him and then there are fingers in his hair, gently stroking, accompanied a moment later by Roman’s voice in a lower tone.

“It’s gonna be okay, Dean,” Roman murmurs, and Dean really wants to believe that, but he can’t.

If only he could.

“It’s gonna be okay.”


	59. Chapter 59

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn’t know he could experience anything like this – waking up with a roof over his head in a bed with the two men he really, really likes (he won’t say ‘love,’ he won’t say it, he won’t say it) surrounding him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is fluff mixed with some angst mixed with a lot of smut with sprinkles and a whipped Dean (not literally) on top. Enjoy :)

Dean wakes up to the sun rising, peeking through the curtains and casting a soft glow across the room. He stretches his arms up over his head and freezes when he comes into contact with something warm and solid.

Seth is next to him, nearly curled up against him, face pressed into the nape of his neck and hair a frizzy mess. Dean shifts, trying to create some space between them, only to run into something—or someone—behind him.

Roman, with one hand solidly wrapped around his hip, his firm grip not letting Dean go anywhere.

Dean sighs, and Seth mutters something in his sleep and shifts even closer.

One part of him, the part he’s still trying desperately to tuck away, absolutely fuckin’ loves this, and that part of him wants nothing more than to stay in this bed all day, with the two of them wrapped around him, keeping him warm and, well, not alone. But the part of him that is about to win over knows he can’t let himself indulge in such pleasures, knows he hasn’t earned such a thing, knows he doesn’t deserve such a thing. And he has to find a way out.

He manages to roll onto his other side without too much fuss from Seth or Roman, except that when he rolls over, he finds Roman staring at him with sleepy eyes.

“Good morning,” Roman says, in a sleep-rough voice that sounds approximately three octaves lower than his normal voice (although Dean doesn’t know shit about octaves), and Dean’s heart fucking _flutters._

He is so fucked.

“Morning,” Dean mumbles, and Roman smiles and leans in and kisses his forehead, and Dean just about dies right then and there. He didn’t know he could experience anything like this – waking up with a roof over his head in a bed with the two men he really, _really_ likes (he won’t say ‘love,’ he won’t say it, he won’t say it) surrounding him.

Roman turns over and climbs out of bed, and Dean’s heart nearly stops when he realizes that Roman is _naked,_ every bare inch of him on glorious display, from his unfairly perfect dick to his unfairly perfect ass to his unfairly perfect abs, and Dean is a sixteen-year-old horny teenager again with a dick so hard it could cut glass.

Dean wriggles into a sitting position and eyes Roman hungrily, and Roman apparently quickly picks up on Dean’s gaze, because Roman turns and locks eyes with him and smiles again, this smile reading confidence like no other.

“Like what you see?”

“Damn right,” Dean rasps.

“Then come here,” Roman says. “I’ll take care of you.”

Dean maneuvers down to the end of the bed, and Roman steps in front of him, spreading his legs apart and stepping in between them.

“You’ll have to be quiet, though, Dean… we don’t want to wake Seth up.”

* * *

As it turns out, Seth is apparently a very heavy sleeper.

He doesn’t wake up when Roman gets down on his knees, pulls off Dean’s boxer-briefs and sucks his cock like a motherfucking blowjob expert until Dean comes down his throat and nearly passes out.

There are not very many prettier things in life than Roman Reigns with a cock in his mouth and cum in his throat.

Seth doesn’t wake up when Dean returns the favor, getting down on his knees and taking Roman’s cock in his mouth, and though he’s not nearly as good at blowjobs as Roman is, it doesn’t take long for Roman to come, murmuring praise as Dean swallows as much of his cum as he can without choking.

Dean ends up hard again as a result of the blowjob, and so Roman lays him back down on the bed, crawls up between his legs and slowly jerks him off, murmuring words of encouragement into his ear in a low voice, along with words that sound too filthy to be coming out of Roman’s pretty mouth, but it’s enough for Dean, and he wails when he comes, coming hard enough to end up with streaks of cum on his chest, as well as drips of cum all over Roman’s hand, and Dean’s basking in the afterglow when a voice speaks up beside him.

“I can’t _believe_ you guys started without me.”

Dean nearly jumps out of his skin, until he realizes it’s just Seth, and Roman is laughing.

“Aren’t you kinda hungover, Seth?” Roman asks.

“ _Pfft._ No hangover is gonna stop me from getting some dick,” Seth says defiantly, and Dean starts to laugh at that until Seth climbs into his lap, folds himself over Dean’s body and laps up the streaks of cum on his chest. Dean shudders and his cock twitches with renewed interest.

“Dean,” Seth tells him in a soft voice that sounds almost like a purr, “I think what you need is someone to take care of you. So relax, lay back… and we’ll take good care of you.”

Seth makes good on his promise, fingering himself open with copious amounts of lube (provided by Roman) before sliding down on Dean’s cock, hard again as if he hasn’t already come twice this morning. But Dean doesn’t think he’ll last very long; there aren’t very many prettier things in life than Seth Rollins naked, body slicked with sweat, riding a cock and moaning like he’s in heat, his own cock hard and dripping precum.

Seth whines and clenches around him, and Dean groans audibly, finding that the source of Seth’s reaction is Roman, who’s wrapped his hand around Seth’s cock and is stroking him in time to his thrusts. Dean knows he’s close, can feel himself teetering on the edge with Seth riding him so damn good, clenching around him and fucking down onto him, and Seth slams down particularly hard, forcing Dean a little deeper, and Dean cries out something that sounds vaguely like Seth’s name and comes, filling Seth up with his cum until it’s leaking out of him. Seth follows him over the edge not long after, Roman’s movements speeding up until Seth fucking _screams_ and comes, his cum splattering wetly across Dean’s abdomen and his own.

Dean’s watching Roman with half-lidded eyes, observing with the faintest twitch of interest in his cock as Roman jerks himself to completion and comes across Seth’s back, leaving Seth whimpering as Roman marks up his pretty skin.

Seth pulls himself off of Dean and falls to the side, and Roman joins them. They’re all hot and sticky with sweat and cum; they’re a mess and the bed’s a mess and it’s not even noon yet.

But Dean feels better than he has in a long time.

“I needed that,” he mumbles, trying his hardest not to fall asleep once more.

He fails, but he hears one last thing before he succumbs.

“We know,” spoken softly in Roman’s rich rumble.


	60. Chapter 60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Hey Dean,  
> Rome and I decided to hit the gym. We were gonna bring you with us but you slept through everything we tried, so we decided to let you get your beauty rest.  
> Don’t freak out, we’ll be back, okay?
> 
> Seth  
> P.S. Rome says we need to talk about us when you wake up.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter has brief mentions of bloodplay and breathplay.

When Dean wakes once more, the sun is starting to set and the bed is empty.

In his half-awake state, he gropes around sleepily for Seth, and upon not finding him, he then gropes around for Roman, but neither is there.

He knows it’s his own hotel room, not theirs; they have no reason to stay, but he wishes they did. 

Sitting up, he rubs his bleary eyes and winces at the dried cum on his stomach, making a mental note to get in the shower immediately. He feels sticky and gross, covered in bodily fluids that are only partially his own.

He starts to roll out of bed, only to come across a note laid across one of the pillows, written on cheap hotel stationery and left for him to find.

‘ _Hey Dean,_

_Rome and I decided to hit the gym. We were gonna bring you with us but you slept through everything we tried, so we decided to let you get your beauty rest._

_Don’t freak out, we’ll be back, okay?_

_Seth_

_P.S. Rome says we need to talk about us when you wake up.’_

‘Talk about us.’ In Dean’s mind, that can only mean one thing, and he is _not_ looking forward to it.

So he gets into the shower and tries to drown the negative thoughts welling up, the results of his brain telling him he’s not good enough for Roman, not good enough for Seth, so fucked up that he gets off on the taste of blood, on being choked, on being used in all the wrong ways, but the thoughts come raining down harder and faster than the water, and they overwhelm him.

By the time he gets out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist, he’s sullen, and his mood doesn’t improve when he’s in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror, and the door to his room bangs open and in stumble none other than Roman and Seth—he can recognize them by voice alone—fuckin’ giggling about something that makes no sense to him whatsoever.

He leans in the doorway to the bathroom and stares at them. They’re all wrapped up in each other like they’re a couple, and they’re whispering to each other and Dean’s chest hurts and his vision blurs.

“How did you even get back into my room?” he asks, instead of asking why they’re nearly groping each other without him in the middle of it all.

Seth responds, smiling widely, “We took your extra room key.” But his face falls when their eyes meet, as if Seth can see into him through his eyes, can see his insecurity, his desperation, see the black mass inside of him that represents all he ever was, all he ever will be.

He’s not good enough for the likes of them—they may be fucked up, may claim to be fucked up, but he knows he’s fucked up on a level they can’t even begin to touch.

He’s broken.

“Dean? What’s wrong?”

Fuckin’ question of the year, isn’t it.

He won’t break in front of them, though. Not anymore. No, he has to be strong, he can’t show them how much he needs, no, doesn’t need, _wants_ them.

So he inhales, a deep, shuddery breath that gives him away, and says, “Nothin’.”

“Bullshit. C’mon, talk to us,” Roman says, disentangling himself from Seth and moving to Dean, wrapping an arm around him and pressing Dean into his side. Roman smells like sweat, but Dean’s so inexplicably comforted by his presence that it doesn’t even matter.

“I just…” It still won’t come out, no matter how hard he tries, even with Roman’s warm, solid presence at his side, even with Seth staring at him expectantly. There’s a hard, heavy feeling of dread in his stomach that melts away the comfort he feels at Roman’s side.

Seth approaches, cups Dean’s face in his hands, stares into his eyes like he can see right inside Dean, see his blackened, scarred excuse for a soul.

“Use your words,” Seth says, without a hint of malice in his tone, just genuine concern, like he knows Dean is about to shake apart, from fear, from certainty, from knowing that Roman and Seth are going to slip out of his hands.

“You’re gonna leave,” he says, finally. “You—you said we needed to talk about us—and—and I know you’re gonna leave—cause—cause I’m too fucked up—and I don’t _want_ you to leave,” and his voice cracks, and it all tumbles out of him, and he hangs his head, ashamed of his thoughts, ashamed of his words, ashamed of who he is.

He’s just an ex-junkie from Cincinnati who somehow ended up down here; he can’t possibly be worth anything to Roman, to Seth, who both have so much ahead of them, so much potential, he can’t let himself weigh them down.

“Dean,” he hears Seth say, but he can’t look at him, so he just closes his eyes and tries to fight off the angry tears that try to appear and fall. He feels lips in his hair, pressing gentle kisses against his temple, and he slumps against Roman and gives up the fight, letting his tears fall freely, although there’s still shame burning hot under his skin, and not even in a pleasant way.

“We’re not gonna leave unless you want us to. Okay? Look, Dean, we talked,” Seth’s saying. “We talked for a _long_ time. We talked about meetin’ you, and we talked about us fucking _competing_ for your attention, and we talked about our own past, and our present, and… what we want for our future. We even talked about, y’know, Ro’s poor choices in choosing boyfriends. And I’m not talkin’ about myself. Or you.”

“Seth, shut _up._ ”

“I mean, what were you thinking, man, going after some blonde skank who probably can’t even go two seconds without looking in a mirror, did you have to install mirrors in your bedroom so you could fu—“

“Seth, I swear, I’m gonna beat your ass.”

But Roman doesn’t even sound angry; he sounds _relieved,_ almost, and Dean’s confused as hell, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Anyway, Dean, we talked about a _lot_ of things. And we came to a decision.”

He knows what’s going to happen next. They’re going to tell him they don’t want him, they don’t need him, and he’ll have to reject the offer to move up because he won’t be able to handle being in a stable with them when he wants them so fuckin’ badly, even though he knows he doesn’t deserve them.

“We want to be together,” Roman says, and there it is, what he was expecting—them telling him they don’t want him, they don’t need him, they want each other even though Seth cheated and Roman swore he’d never take him back and said he’d found someone else, but god, they’re about as good as sticking to their word as he is. He struggles to get out of Roman’s grasp, struggles to get Seth to let go of him, but their grip doesn’t loosen, which makes no sense because what do they need him hanging around for if they don’t want him?

“Wait, wait, Dean, listen, please,” Seth pleads. “We wanna be together, but we want _you,_ too, okay? And don’t say that you don’t want us, we _know_ how you feel about us, Dean, you make it so fuckin’ obvious,” Seth says, tone almost fond.

“So we want _all_ of us to be together. Like a threesome… but with a relationship, you know?” Roman finishes, and Dean’s so stunned by the confession that he stops struggling. He lifts his head and makes eye contact with Seth, who looks a little anxious as he waits for Dean’s response.

“You’re fuckin’ serious?” he finally says, voice hoarse. “You… me… what… _how?_ ” He’s forgotten how to properly use words. “I thought… I thought… Ro… had someone?”

Roman scoffs, sliding his hand down to Dean’s hip, fingers resting just beneath the edge of the towel wrapped around Dean’s hips, and, _oh yeah,_ Dean’s still in nothing but a towel. That may be an influential factor in this whole decision.

But if they’re not lying, he ain’t gonna fuckin’ complain.

“It was good at first, but then he got really fuckin’ egotistical and self-centered, and finally said I wasn’t good-lookin’ enough for him and he’d found someone else,” Roman says.

“Not good-looking enough for him? Shit, he must’ve had the wrong guy,” Seth says, and Dean tips his head up in time to see Seth lean in for a kiss from Roman, and Roman gives him what he wants. Their kiss is heated, needy, and Dean can’t help the fact that he whines in protest of being left out. He has needs, okay, and it’s probably been at least twelve hours since their orgy.

Seth pulls away from Roman eventually, and Roman smirks and looks at Dean. “So, is that a yes? Do you want this?” Roman asks him.

“If I said yes…” Dean murmurs, finally having recovered some use of the English language, “I can have both of you? ‘N not have to ‘choose’?”

“Yeah, you can have both. Was a stupid thing of me to do,” Roman mutters. “Just greedy ‘n pissed at Seth, I guess.”

Oh, _fuck,_ it’s what he wants, what he doesn’t deserve, but what he wants. Although he knows there’s still so little they know about him—it’s only been a year since they’ve met—and he could be putting them in danger, if his past comes back to take a piece out of him like it always does, like it has been lately… he doesn’t take much more time to answer.

Sometimes he doesn’t think before he speaks, and this is one of those times.

“Yes, yes, yes, _fuck_ yes,” Dean says, and Seth rewards him with a deep kiss, and Roman manages to maneuver behind him and slip his hand underneath the towel wrapped around Dean’s waist, working him over until he comes with a moan that’s lost in Seth’s mouth, and they separate and the towel gets dropped on the floor and they take him back to bed.

Their next show’s not until tomorrow evening; they have a few hours to christen the room officially.

To celebrate being _together._


	61. Chapter 61

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is hardly ever alone anymore. He appreciates this change; not being alone prevents his brain from turning against him, prevents his demons from coming out of the darkness and convincing him that it’s time to welcome his past back into his life, time to get addicted again, time to be used again.

A lot changes over the following three months.

For starters, Dean is hardly ever alone anymore. He appreciates this change; not being alone prevents his brain from turning against him, prevents his demons from coming out of the darkness and convincing him that it’s time to welcome his past back into his life, time to get addicted again, time to be used again.

No, there’s almost always Seth or Roman there with him; usually both. They get one hotel room with a king bed and try to cram all three of them in it. Usually one of them ends up on the floor by the early morning, grumpy about it until the other two soothe him with lips and hands and tongues and all is forgiven.

There are road trips to get from show to show in the state, each of them trading who drives, who calls shotgun, and who has to sit in the back. There’s a lot of Dean buying junk food when Roman stops to get gas, a lot of Seth complaining about said junk food, and a lot of Roman having to mediate the arguments that arise between them over it, until Roman ends up taking the junk food from Dean and stashing it away, much to Dean’s disappointment and Seth’s smug delight.

There’s a lot of learning, too; learning about what they each like and dislike, in more ways than one. For one, maybe it’s just the novelty of how new their relationship is, but they can’t seem to keep their hands off each other. There’s a lot of getting to the hotel late and getting to events late because they got too distracted by each other. There are a lot of messy blowjobs in filthy gas station bathrooms because road head nearly ends up killing them. There are bruises and teeth marks and sore spots that burn if Dean stands the wrong way, and Seth snickers when he winces, only for Dean to get payback later that night by fucking him into the mattress until _he’s_ the one having trouble walking.

Dean’s restless and antsy a lot, too; so sometimes, he talks a lot. He talks about inane things; he talks about more personal things; he talks in the middle of intimate situations, filthy encouragement mixed with moans mixed with pleads, depending on what he’s doing in the situation.

He’ll talk while the three of them lie in bed together, and the other two will nod and “mm-hmm” at appropriate times, until he doesn’t get those well-timed responses anymore and finds that they’re asleep, and upon nudging them awake, is told to go to sleep, in a voice fond but gently exasperated.

And Dean finds that his favorite place to be is in Roman and Seth’s arms.

It feels like he has a home for the first time.

It feels like coming home.

* * *

Not everything’s perfect, of course; Dean’s life isn’t a fuckin’ fairytale, and never will be, but he doesn’t mind. To expect his life to be perfect would be asking too much.

They fight sometimes, maybe a lot of the time, especially Dean and Seth – their personalities still clash as much as they did when the two of them first met in a backstage hallway just over a year before. Usually Roman is able to break up their fights, but sometimes they escalate into either violence or angry sex; sometimes both, one after the other.

It’s more difficult when a fight involves Roman. Dean _still_ doesn’t know that much about him, and the man’s still got a damn good poker face. And Dean notices that Roman, unlike himself and Seth, doesn’t explode outward when he’s pissed; no, Roman just gets quiet and tense, closed-off and distant, brooding until Dean’s absolutely fuckin’ sure that he’s irrevocably fucked up something between them and he’ll never get it back.

There’s one night when they have a fight in the middle of their hotel room at one in the morning, and Roman simply walks out, and when half an hour passes and he doesn’t return, Dean feels his worry start to crumble him to pieces.

He asks Seth if Roman’s gonna come back—Seth knows him better, anyway; he’s probably used to fights with Roman, probably used to him walking out, but Dean isn’t, and he can’t afford to fuck this up.

He thinks fucking this up would break him, would probably kill him.

Seth wraps his arms around him, kisses his cheek and promises him that Roman will come back, but it’s a hard promise to believe when it’s not coming from the man himself.

After Seth goes to bed, Dean calls Roman’s phone, and it starts ringing from the confines of Roman’s bag, discarded on the floor.

When Roman finally returns, it’s four in the morning, and Dean hasn’t slept at all, torturing himself worrying that maybe Roman would never come back, or he’d come back and wouldn’t want Dean anymore.

He hears the _click_ of the door opening, shoots up from the edge of the bed when he sees Roman, and all but flings himself at him.

There’s a string of apologies falling from his lips as he wraps himself around Roman, and he hears Roman sigh, soft and slow.

“It’s okay, Dean,” he says. “I’m sorry, too.”

Then Roman’s arms are around him, and there’s a kiss on his forehead, and Dean’s anxiety starts to burn out.

“I missed you,” Roman says, and Dean nearly sobs with relief.

He hasn’t truly fucked up.

Not yet, anyway.

* * *

One day, they’re in Florida putting their asses on the line for a crowd of probably two hundred, competing for a chance at a championship they know they won’t ever get, and the next they’re in Indianapolis, wearing turtlenecks and jeans and waiting to debut to a crowd of nearly nine thousand.

Dean’s not worried; he knows this is where he belongs. He always knew good enough to make it to the big leagues, and here he is, nearly twenty-seven and finally at the top of the playing field after nearly a decade of eating, sleeping, and breathing wrestling.

Roman and Seth, though… not so much.

He doesn’t have a clue why they’re so bothered, though. Sure, Roman has only been wrestling for two and a half years tops, but it’s in his blood. And Seth’s been wrestling since he was a teenager, putting the neighborhood kids through tables in his backyard, as Dean’s been told.

So Dean thinks it’s a little weird that _he’s_ the one acting all calm and collected in this situation—although he’s buzzing with anticipation on the inside, he’s using a cart as a seat, while Roman and Seth are pacing, and Dean swears if he sees any more of that he’ll have to shake some goddamn sense into them himself.

So when they walk past him for the thirty-millionth time, Dean hops off the cart and grabs a handful of Seth’s turtleneck as he goes by, yanking him backwards. He delights in Seth’s near-squeak, followed by an embarrassed, but apparently only mildly bothered, protest.

“Ro, c’mere,” Dean says, beckoning him over. Roman complies without protest, and Dean leans in, presses their foreheads together, all three of them in a triangle.

“Look,” Dean says with a sigh, “I see both of ya are worryin’. I dunno what the hell you’re worryin’ about, but whatever it is, it ain’t worth it, okay? We fuckin’ earned our way here, yeah? We were some of the best goddamn talent FCW or NXT or whatever it’s called now had to offer. ‘N I’ve been wrestlin’ for a decade and I _know_ a good wrestler when I see one. Both of ya are good; hell, better than good. _Great._ So don’t take that lightly, okay? I ain’t just sayin’ it cause I’m fond of ya. And as long as we’re together… we could take down this whole goddamn company.”

He sees Seth smile, and even Roman smiles a little bit, hard as he sometimes may be to discern.

“I l-“ he nearly fucks everything up, but catches it just in time, letting the words die out instead and offering them a smile in response. Then he straightens and pulls Seth into a kiss, one that Seth eagerly responds to. Dean pulls away after a few seconds and turns to Roman and kisses him, too.

Roman plays rough, all teeth and tongue, sharp and insistent, and Dean bites Roman’s lip hard enough to find a faint copper taste on his tongue when he pulls away. “Later, big guy,” Dean says, patting Roman on the bicep and smirking at him. He likes it when Roman plays rough; it’s a good look on him.

And then they’re told it’s time to get into position, and Dean looks at Seth and Roman and grins.

“Give ‘em hell, boys.”

* * *

Everything goes according to plan. They rush the ring in the middle of CM Punk vs John Cena vs Ryback and beat the shit out of Ryback, kicking him and hitting him and generally beating him to a pulp until they knock him out of the ring, where they proceed to trash the commentary tables and invent the triple powerbomb.

It feels goddamn good to stand there outside the ring, with the lights beating down on him and the crowd roaring, Seth and Roman by his side.

He could get used to this.


	62. Chapter 62

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't care that they’ve spent practically the whole morning fucking, doesn’t care that he’s still sticky with cum drying in all the right places, doesn’t care that he (and Seth, obviously) is teetering on the edge of consciousness. He just knows what he wants, and if he has any say in what happens in his life, then Dean Ambrose will fuckin’ get what he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of NSFW content in this chapter; viewer discretion advised.

“Your hair looks _so_ fuckin’ stupid.”

Beside him, Seth cracks an eye open, peering at Dean with sated, sleepy eyes. “I fuckin’ hate you,” he mumbles, miffed look somehow dissolving into a fit of giggles. “Don’t insult my hair, asshole. You’re just _jealous._ ”

“How could I be jealous of this?” Dean asks, plucking at Seth’s blonde strands and tugging on them, resulting in Seth giving a half-assed attempt to slap his hand away, missing Dean’s arm by about six inches. “Looks like someone dumped a bottle of bleach on your hair. Or like someone put a bucket of bleach on top a door and ya opened the door, but it only got half your head.”

“ _You’re_ the one with the fuckin’ stupid hair,” Seth huffs, but it’s obvious he’s not really bothered. “Fuckin’ receding hairline.”

Dean musters up his best glare, but he’s too satisfied with the events of the previous night and the early morning to really be pissed. “What did I tell you ‘bout insultin’ my hairline?”

“To do it constantly,” Seth says, and giggles again.

“ _Seth,_ ” comes Roman’s amused voice over Seth’s shoulder. The bed creaks slightly with movement, and there’s Roman, all big and imposing over Seth’s tinier frame even though they’re both laying on their side. “Leave ‘im alone. He can’t help it.”

It’s obvious that Seth’s about to come up with some half-drunk, fucked-stupid remark, but then Roman slides an arm around Seth’s waist and kisses the curve of his neck, and Dean watches as Seth’s words die out on his tongue, going almost limp in Roman’s embrace.

The sheets are draped across Seth’s otherwise-naked lower half, but Dean can still see Roman’s hand creep lower and slip underneath the sheets. Seth whines and his eyes slip shut.

“Mmm, Ro, no more,” he says, although it’s obvious that he’s pushing into Roman’s touch, encouraging it. “Had too much today. M’all worn out.”

“And _I’m_ bein’ left out,” Dean says, shifting to scoot a little bit closer, but still not close enough. He doesn't care that they’ve spent practically the whole morning fucking, doesn’t care that he’s still sticky with cum drying in all the right places, doesn’t care that he (and Seth, obviously) is teetering on the edge of consciousness. He just knows what he wants, and if he has any say in what happens in his life, then Dean Ambrose will fuckin’ get what he wants.

Roman laughs, the sound rich and deep and stirring interest in his dick. “Then c’mere, man. There’s plenty of room.”

That’s all the encouragement Dean needs, and he closes the gap between them, slotting himself against Seth and pushing one leg in between his, the only thing separating their lower halves the thin material of the sheets. Dean rocks his hips forward and Seth moans, loud and long, and Roman smirks, pleased.

“That’s our pretty little slut,” Roman says, voice nearly a purr, and _fuck_ if that doesn’t make Dean drip some precum onto the sheets; it’s like Roman’s goddamn stupidly-hot voice was _made_ for filth, made to swear and say the dirtiest things and Dean will never, ever get enough.

“Yeah, slutty little princess Sethie,” Dean says, voice rough. He shifts his weight to the side, and with his free hand, manages to pull the sheets down, exposing the half-hard length of Seth’s dick, Roman’s hand drifting to Seth’s hip to let Dean have his fun.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” Dean breathes, fitting his leg between Seth’s legs again, pushing Seth down onto his back and feeling the press of Seth’s dick against his hip. Dean’s half atop him, weight on his forearm just beside the length of his naked body, and Seth’s face is flushed pink and his eyes, although open now, are hazy, blurred by obvious lust, obvious desire.

Dean doesn’t know how they still want him, but he considers himself goddamn lucky they do.

Dean ruts against Seth, finding pleasurable friction against Seth’s sweat-slick skin, and Seth whimpers and mewls, trembling underneath him. There’s not much else he can do; half-pinned by the weight of Dean’s body atop him, and Roman a solid presence on his other side, keep him there, theirs to do whatever they want with.

Dean fuckin’ loves it.

“Come here, baby,” he hears Roman murmur, and he looks up in time to see him pull Seth into a kiss. It’s slow and lazy, but heated, and when they finally separate their lips are spit-slick and swollen, and Roman looks at Dean and grins.

Not needing any other invitation, Dean leans down to kiss Seth. It takes a little bit of time to get their angling right, noses bumping as a result of their odd positioning, but they get it, finally, and Seth’s mouth is sinfully hot and wet and inviting, and Dean gets a brilliant idea.

He breaks the kiss and pulls away, pushing up onto his hands, and Seth whines at the loss of contact, reaching up to draw him back down, but Dean nudges his hands away.

“Don’t worry, princess. I got an idea, yeah? You’ll fuckin’ love it.”

Roman watches him with undisguised interest, and Dean meets his gaze with a smirk. “Ro,” he says. “I wanna fuck his mouth.”

Seth makes a _noise,_ one that Dean interprets as ‘fuck yes,’ but what comes out of Roman’s mouth, directed at Seth, is even better.

“Yeah, you want that? Want him to fuck your mouth, put those pretty cocksuckin’ lips to good use?”

Seth nods fervently, and then he locks eyes with Dean, and his mouth falls open.

“Fuck, I think I love you, princess,” Dean says, his words not quite registering in his head as he moves to straddle Seth’s chest, body hovering just a bit above his chest so as not to accidentally hurt him. He takes his cock in hand, rubs the head against Seth’s kiss-swollen lips, wet and warm and waiting. He’s being a tease, he knows that, but he nearly jumps when he feels more sensation and finds Seth giving the head of his cock tiny kitten licks, obviously impatient with his teasing.

“Needy little fuckin’ whore,” Dean says, voice soft, fond, and presses his dick into the warmth of Seth’s mouth. Seth hums in what sounds like approval, and Dean groans at the vibrations that travel up his cock and he swears he feels them up his spine, too.

For a little while, he lets Seth do all the work, letting him lick and suck to his heart’s desire, until Dean decides he needs more and pushes in a little deeper. And then he pulls out almost all the way and pushes back in, a little deeper than before, and he starts up a rhythm like that, fucking into Seth’s mouth. He’s a little uncoordinated and wobbly, but he’s careful not to choke Seth—he wouldn’t do that unless Seth wanted him to.

Beside him, he hears a low moan, and he glances over to see Roman on his knees on the bed, hand wrapped around his cock and moving up and down, jerking himself off in time to Dean’s sloppy thrusts.

“Hey, hey, hey, that‘s my job,” Dean protests, attempting to nudge Roman’s hand away. “Lemme take care of ya.”

Roman looks halfway amused, like he doesn’t think Dean can focus on Seth and Roman at the same time, but dammit Dean is a man of his word, mostly, and he’s gonna fuckin’ try.

So Roman takes his hand off his cock, and Dean replaces it with his own, hips only slowing a little in his thrusts as he gives Roman’s cock attention. There’s a little bit of precum leaking, so he rubs it over the head with his thumb, reveling in the groan Roman makes as he strokes over the slit in the head.

It’s still sloppy and uneven, but Dean manages to jerk Roman off while still fucking Seth’s mouth, but he knows he’s close, heat pooling in his stomach as Seth drools around his cock. _Fuck,_ it’s good though, the way Seth’s mouth is slack, letting Dean use his mouth the way he wants; the way spit is dribbling out of Seth’s mouth; the way Seth is being so _good_ for him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, m’close,” Dean hisses, his thrusts getting sharper, harder, as he chases his orgasm. It only takes a couple more thrusts before he comes with Seth’s name on his tongue, spilling down Seth’s throat. He can see Seth’s throat working to swallow everything down, but some of it leaks out, spilling down Seth’s chin, and Dean swipes his free hand’s index finger through the mess and sucks it into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as if he’s giving a blowjob.

“Fuck, Dean,” Roman grunts, and Dean grins, speeding up his strokes on Roman’s cock until Roman takes initiative and starts fucking into Dean’s fist; short, speedy thrusts of his hips until they stutter and he comes.

It’s a fuckin’ beautiful sight when he comes; Roman throwing his head back, veins standing out, white, sticky ropes spurting onto his chest and over Dean’s fingers and as far up as his forearm. He’s just as beautiful when he’s done coming; chest heaving with his heavy breaths, sticky wet and glistening with sweat and cum.

When he finally looks at Dean again, Dean smirks and holds out his hand, covered in cum.

“Wanna taste?” he asks.

Roman leans forward and wraps his lips around each of Dean’s fingers, cleaning the cum from his skin, and Dean’s spent cock twitches in interest.

In his opinion, Roman should permanently have something in his mouth, ‘cause he’s got lips as good for cocksucking as Seth.

Dean pulls away from Seth, swinging his leg back over Seth’s body to end up on the other side of Seth, and it’s then that he notices Seth is _painfully_ hard, the head of his cock a darker pink and leaking precum.

“Don’t worry, princess, I’ll take care of ya,” Dean promises, reaching down to Seth’s lower half and wrapping his hand around his cock. He know it won’t take much to get Seth off, from the way Seth’s trembling already just from soft, slow strokes, but he decides to add a little more to encourage Seth along.

“C’mon, show us how much you like bein’ our little slut,” Dean coos, stroking up and down Seth’s cock rhythmically, paying particular attention to the head like he knows Seth likes. “Bein’ our little whore, got your legs spread for us ‘n you’d do anything we’d say, right, Sethie?”

“Yeah,” Seth pants, voice wrecked from Dean’s cock down his throat, and Dean’s cock twitches _again,_ and it’s nearly enough to make him half-hard.

“So fuckin’ needy. God, look at you, just fuckin’ dyin’ from bein’ touched. Oh, man. I bet we could get two cocks up your ass when you’re like this. Me ‘n Ro fuckin’ you at the same time, stretchin’ you open, fillin’ you… markin’ you up. We’d fuckin’ make you _ours,_ forever, so addicted to us fuckin’ you that no one else could. You wanna be our pretty little needy cockslut, baby?”

Seth wails when he comes, so loud Dean’s sure that everyone in the hotel rooms around them and on the floors above and below can hear him. His back arches off the bed when he comes, and his cum is thick and copious, splattering all the way up to his neck, but spilling over Dean’s fingers, too. He’s panting heavily as he comes down from his high, damp with sweat but obviously content.

Dean licks the cum from his fingers with a satisfied smirk, then folds himself over Seth’s body and cleans the cum from his skin, licking and nipping his way up Seth’s stomach and chest, making Seth squirm and make little noises as he travels higher. When he reaches Seth’s neck, he presses kisses all along the column of his neck, up over Seth’s Adam’s apple and stopping at the underside of Seth’s chin. He presses one last lingering kiss there and murmurs a soft ‘thank you’ in his ear.

Seth smiles, a blissed-out look on his face, and says the one sentence Dean never expected—or maybe even wanted—to hear.

“I love you.”


End file.
